


Beauty For A Beast

by secretly_a_cat



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 43,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretly_a_cat/pseuds/secretly_a_cat
Summary: Michael is their sweetheart. Mogar is their weapon.It's been seven years since Geoff and his girls fought to keep a scraggly fifteen year old off the street and away from other gangs who already had it out for him.Six since the British hacker was brought in wet and cold and far too hungry.Five years since they met the Vagabond.Three since the whitewashed Puerto Rican sniper and stocky fighter were added to the payroll.But Michael will always be their favorite and Mogar will always be their last resort. And now their boy needs help.





	1. Problem And Proposition

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr now has a Beauty For A Beast blog. Linking isn't working for me so look up Beauty For A Beast or follow me at secretly-a-cat-ao3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is their sweetheart. Mogar is their weapon.  
> It's been seven years since Geoff and his girls fought to keep a scraggly fifteen year old off the street and away from other gangs who already had it out for him.  
> Six since the British hacker was brought in wet and cold and far too hungry.  
> Five years since they met the Vagabond.  
> Three since the whitewashed Puerto Rican sniper and stocky fighter were added to the payroll.  
> But Michael will always be their favorite and Mogar will always be their last resort.

**Michael is their sweetheart. Mogar is their weapon.**

 

“We can't keep doing this Geoff.” her voice is just loud enough to be heard over the shouts, dull thumps, and crashes coming from the other side of the penthouse.

“Doing what?”

The redhead sighed and shifted on the man's lap. “Michael. He's dangerous. And only getting worse.”

Geoff smirks. “Well yeah, that's why we have safeguards Jack.”

“But I mean really dangerous. Like he's going to get himself, and some of the crew, killed.”

“Then we give him the injection.”

Jack tsks and reaches across him to pluck the glass he had picked up from his hands. “And basically give him the go-ahead to stop actually giving a shit?” Geoff watches as she takes delicate sips. “Not damn likely.” she sets the glass down with a little more force than is necessary. “He's practically a fucking mutant already, I am not going to do that to him.”

He sighs and rubs his free hand down his face. The other is busy rubbing circles on her hip. “We all love the boy Jack, he was our first. But we can't keep him locked up forever just because shit is finally getting real.” as if to prove his point there's an especially loud yell followed by a crash and some heavy thuds.

“Sounds like we'll be needing to remodel again.”

“Yeah…” he manages to get his whiskey back. “Maybe I'll ask Griff to pick up some paint up on her way in.” he tries to hide his smile at the now squirming bundle of lithe redhead on his lap.

“Oh, is she coming home soon?” she's straddling him now and his hands come to rest on her toned thighs. Her eyes are wide and sparkling and she's biting her lip so prettily he can't help leaning in to steal a kiss.

“Yeah baby,” he caresses her face and she leans into his touch. Her small (mostly) soft hand holding his large rough one. “Soon I'll have both my girls home.” she glances at him through hazy eyes and fluttering lashes and turns her head to the side. Pulling his hand away from her face she kisses his ring finger lightly.

“I can't wait.” Her lips flutter over the two rings resting there and he just marvels at how warm that sight makes him. The moment is ruined by another -louder- crash and the sound of growling coming down the hall.

“Michael!” Geoff yells as Jack jumps off his lap. She has a hand on her hip holster and he's reaching for one of the coffee table drawers.

He's just a shadow in the hallway. “Out.” The voice is low and would be chilling if it had been aimed at most anyone else. But for Geoff and Jack it just causes an eyeroll.

“Michael, sweetheart, you know the rules.” Jack's voice is soothing and she has one hand held out to him like some wild animal. He steps out into the warm light of the open living area of the penthouse.

“Yeah, come on buddy, get to bed.” Geoff is standing beside her now, one hand wrapped protectively around her waist. The gesture does not go unnoticed and whiskey eyes narrow. “The boys will be back tomorrow and a couple of them can take you out for a spin then.”

“No.” Jack shifts uneasily at the way Michael claws at his arm despite the heavy leather jacket. “Need. Out. Now!” he bolts for the door.

“Hey!” Geoff prides himself on being a quick draw, especially when the gun is already in his hand; but even he'll admit that Jack, despite preferring vehicles to guns, is a mite better than him. She whips out the taser and has Michael twitching on the floor before Geoff can even get his hand up to aim.

There's sniffles behind him as he makes his way to the knocked out lad. “Is he okay?” he nods curtly after he checks the boy's breathing and his pulse. “Oh Geoff, what are we going to do?” he avoids looking at the tear tracks making their way down her face.

“I don't know.” he wiggles one barb out of the soft flesh just beneath auburn curls. “Griffon said something about an idea she had,” there's the other one. He holds out a hand and Jack silently trades him the bloody barbs for disinfectant swabs. “But I don't know what else can be done.”

“Maybe we've gone about this the wrong way?” she's not sniffling as much and is cleaning up while he bandages their boy's neck.

“What do you mean?” he's tired, so tired. All he wants is to rule Los Santos with his queens by his side and keep a moderate leash on his gang of psychopaths. Is that so much for an all powerful crimelord to ask?

“Like you said, Griffon has some ideas and-” he sees her worrying at her lip as she takes the used barbs off of the wires. “We know how you and the boys handle it.” Her voice is soft and sad and makes his stomach flip.

He swallows roughly. “Oh?”

“The cathouses, extra heists… tortures…” she stops to look at him. “He needs more than a rough fuck and a babysitter.”

“Gavin and Ryan aren't babysitters.”

“Even brothers as close as they are can only handle so much stress. And having to worry about whether he'll lose control on their watch is a lot of stress dear.”

“What do you suggest?” he's lifting Michael best he can and Jack rushes to help. “I take it you and Griff have a plan?” she nods.

“She's been meeting with some of her contacts on her tour and is bringing some paperwork and maybe a few visitors.”

“Visitors?”

Jack nods as she eases Michael out of his jacket and shirt. Leaving the shoes and jeans to Geoff. “Michael needs a focus. A control. Someone who can talk him down.”

Geoff scoffs. “Sounds like Gavin, babe.”

“Gavin distracts him. Diverts his anger.” she plays a little with the curls framing his face as she pulls the blanket up to his chin. “He NEEDS someone.”

He nods and takes her hand, leading her out of the sleeping lad’s room. “So, soon as Griffon gets home, we go about finding a beauty for our beast.”


	2. Background Checks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before they go match-making they gotta know what they're working with. We get a look at some of Michael's possible suitors.

The next day Michael is quiet as he trudges into the open kitchen where Gavin is sluggishly going about making his morning tea, Ray is already chugging a redbull, and Ryan… Well, he can't really tell how awake Ryan is with all that smudged makeup, but he's willing to bet the man is just as dead on his feet as the other two.

“Want some coffee Geoffrey?”

“Irish,” Gavin rolls his eyes but weaves his way through the small crowd in the front of the kitchen and starts fiddling with the coffee machine. “So, where's my money?

Michael is quieter than usual as the others showcase their ill gotten spoils. Kid hasn't said a word since they all amassed by the coffee. Hell, he isn't even yelling at Ray for dancing around like a fucking fairy once they brought out the sparkling loot.

“What's wrong dude, that time of the month?” Ray snickers as he snatches a tiara from the bag and nestles it in Michael’s curls. “Or does Mogar want to come out and play?” Ryan’s head pops up and Gavin’s shoulders stiffen. "You know, full moon and shit."

Michael glares at the smaller lad and Geoff listens for tell-tale rumbling. “I'm going to my room.” The tiara is dropped on the countertop next to the bags and everyone's eyes follow him as he stalks out of the dining area towards the living room. 

“When did you say Griffon was getting home?” Ray rolls his eyes at Gavin and proceeds to poke fun at how his nose clashes with everything they stole. The two miss the worried glance between the three older members of their crew present.

“Looks like I got back just in time.” Geoff's head whips towards the front door. Standing in the doorway in a grey sable coat over her deep purple cocktail dress is Griffon. He rushes over, stumbling and running into a few things, and wraps her in a tight hug.

“Don’t. Stay away. From. Us. That long. Ever. Again.” he gets out between kisses across her cheeks and head.

There’s an exaggerated cough behind him.“You can't hog all the love mister.” Griffon slips out of Geoff’s arms and glides over to the other woman.

“Miss me?” she brushes a stray strand of untameable red hair back as Jack grabs her about the waist.

“Yep.” Jack pops the p, causing Griffon to giggle as she goes in for a kiss.

“Griffon is back?” The voice is low and heart wrenching. The three turn to see Michael standing by the couch, his hands buried in his pockets and shoulders slumped. His gaze flicks between all of them.

Griffon’s smile is softer than the one she had given the rest of the crew and warmer than the one Jack and Geoff had gotten. Jack squeezes her one more time before pulling back.“There's my special boy.” and he's rushing into her open arms. Geoff and Jack join in on the little reunion. “We're all together, the Fantabulous Four.” a chuckle ripples through the other three and she can feel the soft smile against her shoulder.

There's an indignant squawk and a breathy grunt from the open kitchen. "Wot about us then?" Michael lifts his head from where he had been nuzzling into Griffon's shoulder and sticks his tongue out.

"Watch it Curly," Ryan says in a gravelly drawl. "’Less you're lookin' to lose your tongue."

"What have I fucking said about bringing home the creepy, you dickmunch?!" Laughing the four untangle themselves save for Michael. If anything he clings tighter to the small blonde.

“We've got some work to take care of, then we can all catch up alright?” he nods eagerly. “Good.” she reaches up on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Now go on and help Lil J with the luggage and presents." He perks up at the mention of presents and rushes to the lift, Ryan and Gavin on his heels, Ray a sluggish shadow bringing up the rear.

Geoff sighs, now for business. “Griff, you got the paperwork?” she nods and moves past them, leading the way to the heist planning room.

A heavy leather portfolio lands on the table with a thud as Geoff takes his place. "With some help from the intelligence network of our good friends over at Cock-Bite working with our own sneaks and snoops, I have come up with a few options." She nods and Jack reaches in to pull out the first manilla folder. "And remember,” she gives Geoff a pointed look. "The marked folders have shown an interest in... our dilemma. And our boy."

Jack lays a marked folder on the table and snatches up the information sheet when Geoff opens it. "Barbara Dunkelman. Also known as Moose from the disbanded Roosters or Yang, the muscle from the -originally- four girl force formerly known as RWBY. Said to prefer Blondie or Barbs since she joined the Cock-Bites. Do not call her Barbie or Bra unless you want to see why her enemies and allies dubbed her the dragon. Otherwise bubbly and sweet with a soft spot for hard cases."

"No go," Geoff says as he slaps the folder shut on the photo of a smiling blonde. "Girl is Burns' golden child, been named next in line as boss, and his best hacker. The fucker is not going to give her up easy." He huffs a chuckle, " 'Sides, she never stops making puns or saying sorry for the stupidest shit."

“Well Burns has been pushing for another summit,” Geoff leans back against the redhead draped across his armrest. “Something about strengthening alliances.”

Griffon stops her slowly twirling chair, “You think he and the kids would go for a political marriage?”

“Michael would if only to ensure the strength of the treaty. He knows we wouldn't win in a war against Cock-Bite.” 

“I don't want to be like the Salem’s Geoff. This is about the good of our family, not the business.”

“I know Jack, I'm just keeping our options open.”

Griffon clears her throat and pulls the next folder over to her side of the table. "Belladonna, assassin under Blondie's command and also former member of RWBY." She flips through a few more pages, “No one knows the origin of her alias or her real name.”

It's Jack's turn to laugh. "Her name is Arryn, and she's dating our favorite detective."

"You're fucking kidding me!" Geoff squeals and snatches up the folder. He holds the photo of a black haired girl with a cold gaze up to the light. "Her bow thing looks like cat ears."

Griffon rolls her eyes. "That means she's out then." She opens the next marked folder.

"Jessie Nigri,” a professional 8x10 glossy of a heavy lidded, happy looking blonde with grey-green eyes is laid on the table. “Started as a grunt in the Reds before being snatched up by the Salem family," everyone shivers slightly at the mention of the former rulers of Los Santos. "She took the name Cinder and slowly climbed the ranks till she was the matriarch’s right hand. From what it says here, seems she made the Vagabond look tame most days. Once the Salem matriarch mysteriously disappeared she dropped the lapdog routine and went freelance under her 'legal' name. Says here she's running with two up and comers: go by Mercury and Emerald. Both pretty young and devoted to her.” She looks between the tight faces of her partners. She finds she can't bring her voice much louder than a whisper. “Footnote mentions how most info dealers think she's the reason the family fell apart without Mama Salem holding the reigns. And the one behind her disappearance."

"No,” Geoff's voice is a little shaky. "She is not getting anywhere near our son." Despite the nervousness at such a girl showing interest in Michael, the two women share a smile at Geoff's show of paternal affection.

"Kara Eberle. Named heiress of the Eberle Family when her older sister went straight and joined the police academy right outta highschool. Prefers Weiss or Schnee, names she took on during her rebellious phase when she was second-in-command of RWBY." Jack puts the paper down. "Says here she might just be looking to make a business move." Geoff glares at the mark on the folder as he slowly pushes it away.

"She's a maybe. Even if she's doin’ it for politics it would still be a good move all around." The folder is finally flicked aside as Griffon pulls out another.

They sit there nearly an hour eliminating over half the girls before Jack pulls out the last, and probably thinnest folder yet.

"Who's this bitch?" Geoff takes the folder and weighs it in one hand then the next. His eyebrows shoot up when he opens it and he lets out a low whistle.

Jack leans over his shoulder and her eyes go a little wide. "Kid's got an impressive track record." He just nods.

“How impressive we talking?”

“Like there's barely anything here Griff. Just a page of intel and the contact shit.”

Geoff clears his throat and straightens up a bit. "Lindsay Tuggey,” Griffon stiffens at the name. “She was discovered by Burns at The Rings as a crowd favorite: Firebird. When he tried pressuring her to join an established gang -preferably his own- or become a more permanent fixture at The Rings she ran straight for the Fakes.” The hand rubbing Geoff’s back stalls for a moment. “Now she's the unofficial babysitter of the Fake AH crew who heads the B team, occasionally goes on main crew heists, is our second go-to get away driver, and prefers to go by Tuggey.” Geoff drops the folder and rubs his face a few times. "This bitch.”

Jack picks up the page Geoff dropped, “It's unknown what her background is before The Rings, except that it wasn't her first rodeo. She knew how to work the underground better than some gang bosses.”

“How did one of our own crew fly under our radar?”

Jack opens her mouth when Geoff’s head pops up. “I want her.” his back is straight and his girls are wary of the calculating look in his eye. “This is going to be Mogar's girl.”

“We have to at least give some of the other girls a shot.” Jack says over Griffon’s sigh.

“She doesn't even want to be a part of this.”

“Fine, fine, whatever. But I'm telling you. Keep an eye on this one,” he smirks. “She's it.” 


	3. In the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael was their first. But where did he come from?

 

**It's been seven years since Geoff and his girls fought to keep a scraggly fifteen year old off the street and away from other gangs who already had it out for him.**

“It's cold as balls out here.” The man mutters, his breath leaving white particles in his mustache. The blonde on his arm chuckles. “Why did we agree to meet here again?”

“It's neutral territory,” the man reaches out one tattoo covered hand to grab the redhead and pull her into the small huddle.

“And they're known for their fighters.” The blonde breaks away and pulls her plush fur coat closer to her body as she makes her way to the door.

“Griffon!”

“Griff, babe.” The tattooed man reaches her side as she pushes past the burly man standing guard. “What did we say about when we're talking business?”

“Do you mean the part you kept repeating or what Jack and I thought?” she and the redhead share a smirk.

He drops his voice and holds out his arm for her to take. “I mean the part where you don't talk unless we need our ace.” She pouts and Jack falls into step behind Geoff. “Don't give me that look,” he mutters under a smug smile. They're being led through the jeering crowd to a set of stairs leading to the Box. “The longer people round here think you're just arm candy the better.”

“Ramsey!”

“Pollioni!” he detaches himself from Griffon to greet their host. “Nice to see you. Have you met Griffon?”

“Good evening Signor Pollioni.” She purrs as Jack slips her coat off her tattoo covered shoulders.

“Good evening Signora,” his voice is deliberately husky. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Griffon smirks as his eyes rake over her slim black dress that lightly hugs her curves and her pale leg sticking out of the hip-high slit. His eyes linger on the hint of another tattoo on her hip peeking out just below the slit.

“The pleasure is all mine,” her lashes flutter and her chest heaves slightly, “I assure you.”

“Ahem, yes, well.” he's flushed and plays with his tie for a moment. “Shall we get to it?” Geoff smirks and wraps an arm about Griffon’s waist. Her eyes don't leave Pollioni.

“Right.” he jerks his head and Jack moves ahead of them to a table, waiting a moment before motioning the others over. “To business.”

Once seated, Griffon tunes out a little. Opting to pay more attention to the physical sparring rather than the verbal. She's vaguely noticed the men have moved on to the final stages of forming the treaty when HE walks out. His hair is matted and he's limping a little but that's not what has her attention. Well, not entirely at least. It's the fact that, despite almost every inch of his skin being covered in either purple, blue, or yellow-green bruises, cuts and scrapes that haven't been properly treated or visible grime and soiled bandaging; he still stands tall. Tall and proud and itching for a fight. Pollioni notes her interest.

“Ah yes, he is a beauty no?” and she has to agree that beneath the grime and bruises, he really is quite a specimen. Lean and hard and holding himself like he owned the Rings. And with the way the crowd grew a little quieter and the bookies were being crowded when he walked onto the mat, she could almost believe it.

“He's one of yours?” she pulls back from the edge of her seat. “He looks a bit young.” He flashes her what he probably assumes is a charming smile.

“We acquired him recently, almost a year and a half I believe.”

“What's his name then?” Griffon waves away the cloud of smoke from Geoff’s cigar and Jack steps forward with a handkerchief.

Pollioni eyes Jack. “He goes simply by Mogar.” Geoff’s eyes widening goes unnoticed.

Griffon shifts closer to Pollioni. “Really?” Her eyes sparkle with genuine interest. “You were able to tame Mogar?” she ignores the slight frown from Geoff.

“Breaking, taming, is all the same no?” she stiffens at his flippant attitude. He smiles predatorily at her. “It was almost too easy.”

She giggles and uses the handkerchief to fan away more of the smoke. “Oh? Do tell.” He leans forward and falls into a gruesome account of finding the boy -yes, boy- wet and shivering with a bag full of cash, a gun at his side and blood on his hands. What it took to figure out just who he was and how he had evaded joining, or being taken out by, almost every gang in Los Santos. She shoots Geoff a look and he turns away, he's open to ideas.

“But like every beast,” he waves a waiter over, “All it took was a master with a heavy hand holding the reins." Her cheeks are flushed and her lids heavy as she leans in.

“I'm sure you know all about handling wild creatures.” Geoff taps the back of her chair and she pulls back with a coy smile.

“Um, yes,” he's flushed and his pupils are dilated. “I may have some experience, Signora.” his eyes shoot to Geoff who shrugs his shoulders. Pollioni smirks at her, “I'm sure that I could grace you with a… demonstration.” She giggles again and turns to look at Geoff.

“You wouldn't begrudge me some fun, would you darling?” he shakes his head good naturedly.

“Whatever my angel wants.” _Fine, just don't get yourself killed._

“Oh thank you.” She purrs and leans in to give him a kiss. Jack slips her jacket over her shoulders as she stands. “Oh, dear, do book us another reservation, I'd like to come see Pollioni’s prize stallion in the races again.” She waves her hand airily at the ring and Geoff chuckles.

“Of course dear, just call when you're ready to leave.” _This had better be worth changing the plan._

Jack gets a short shot of static over her earpiece about an hour and a half later. “ETA?”

“There's been a slight change of plans.” she sounds breathless and there's a lot of noise in the background. “I need you to get Geoff out and meet me by the back door.”

“Who did you kill?” she's already signalled Geoff who's heading off to pay their tab.

“I didn't kill anyone.” there's a grunt and a thud. “Okay, that was one.”

“Do you have information or package?” Geoff has tapped into their frequency.

“On my way to the package, but got what we came for and then some.” there's a scuffle followed by muffled shots. "But you might eant to be ready for some trouble."

“Fucking dicks woman. What the fuck did you do?”

“Let's just say that he won't be having any heirs soon.”

They find her outside the stables, a hunched figure tucked into her side, part of her coat covering thin shivering shoulders. Jack takes the sack sitting by his feet and checks the boy while Geoff checks Griffon for signs of injury. Jack tsks at a cut on the kid's temple but straightens up at the sound of yelling from inside. “Time to split.”

They make it out alive, barely a scratch between them. "Geoff I know what-"

"Nah," he cuts her off with a weakly held up hand. "We'll deal with your fucking hero trip in the morning."

She waits until he's got at least two cups of coffe in him and just a dash of alcohol before she tells him exactly what happened... and what she did to their resident mob boss.

“What were you thinking?” Geoff slams his fist into the table. She just arches one brow.

“It worked out right in the end.”

“Will you two keep it down?” Jack shakes her spatula at them, hitting them with bacon grease. “It is way too early for this.” She moves past them to restart the coffee machine.

“Are you alright love?”

“Yes, just a little sore.” She shoots Griffon a smile. “The kid packs a punch.”

"It was too dangerous! You see, this is why-"

There's a loud thud from down the hall followed by what sounds like furniture being moved about. Griffon shoots up. “I'll take care of it.” She runs out of the open kitchen down the hall and Geoff sighs as he hears the door slam.

“Hey there.” Her voice is soft as she approaches the bundle of blankets in the corner of the room.

“No closer.” his voice is hoarse and a little weak. “Where am I?”

“You're safe.” he pushes his back against the wall and starts to straighten up. “Don’t try standing just yet.” he stiffens as she rushes to his side. Pushing errant curls aside she shushes and coos and fusses over his shivering form. “You had a lot of stuff pumped into you, but we're going to help you get better.”

“Why?” Her heart clenches at his quiet question. “Why did you take me?”

“They hurt you. And we made sure they can't do it ever again.” he eyes her warily. Her smile is soft and she smells like spiced rum and lavender with some sort of tropical lightness underneath it all. He stares at her, eyes flickering across her face and settling on her eyes, looking for something, anything, to give him a reason to run. But her eyes are warm and open and the only hardness he can find is when she talks about THEM. And he knows.

She has the wind knocked out of her when he throws himself at her, knocking her over. But she doesn't call for the others. Just shifts so she can sit up a little with his head nuzzled against her chest and wetness seeping through her shirt as he holds her in a death grip. She wraps her arms around him and rocks a little, humming formless lullabies and whispering into his hair. "You're alright now. No one is going to hurt you. Not our boy."

It takes awhile, but almost a year later and Mogar -Michael, Jack reminds herself, smiling at the thought- seems to have accepted them as family. He joins them for almost every meal and spends his days either training with one of them, catching up on all the schooling he's missed, or playing games on the Xbox. Griffon complains endlessly about being in a home filled with killer mega-nerds but Jack knows she's the one who's been filling the game shelves with every new game as it comes out and makes sure their amory is stocked and organized.

Geoff has even started falling into the role of ‘dad’, cooking more and ‘asking’ for Michael's help in the kitchen. Even taking him out for ‘bonding’ trips of camping and fishing and pushing for him to let them enroll him in a highschool. She loves watching the two of them trip over each other and even brandishing a knife or two in the other’s face on the days Geoff insists on an overly complicated dish. Like today.

“Don't you touch that peppermill or I swear, I'll cut your fucking dick off.” that was honestly one of the better sounds to come home to all things considered.

“Do that and I'll tell mom about Saturday.”

“Then we'll both be in trouble you idiot!”

“Geoff,” Michael sniffles and if she didn't know better, Jack would be in the room pinning whoever made her boy cry against the hot stove, a knife to their throat. "Why are you yelling at me?” But she did know better.

There's a heavy sigh and Jack peeks in the kitchen to see Geoff put the knife down and lean back against the counter. One hand supports him and the other rubs at the bridge of his nose just between his eyes.

“I'm too sober for this.” pushing off the counter he trudges to a cupboard that's a bit too close to the stove for her liking. Michael perks up at the whiskey Geoff pulls out. His eyes are more lit than usual and she's not entirely sure if it's from anticipation or mischief. Both kinda scare her.

“Sharing is caring pops.” She knew Geoff usually roared and fought against names like dad or pops despite how much he obviously loved playing the part. Made him feel old, or so he said. But the way he rolled his eyes at the cheeky fifteen year old’s smirk, the chuckle when the kid scowled at the smaller glass placed before him. Geoff may not be the most responsible father figure, or the most moral most days, but he cared for him. Damn, barely a few months in and the man would kill for him. They all would.

It was unfathomable how Michael had gone through so much at the hands of those meant to care for him yet still found it within him to trust them so completely. It was baffling and humbling most days. The days he would snuggle between her and Griffon on the couch, or ‘unintentionally’ push Geoff into unnatural angles in the corner of the couch and use him as a pillow. The  nights Mogar made an appearance and Jack or Geoff went down to the gym with him. And the times his fingers itched with pent up energy that didn't call out for blood, and video games didn't do it so Griffon would walk him through the paces of different instruments or art mediums.

Turns out he took a bit of a liking to drawing. And tattoos. “They're like paintings. But on your skin.” He says in slight wonder the first time Griffon takes him down to the parlour to watch her work.

“Yeah,” Geoff smiles at the gentleness in her voice. “Each piece is a work of art on the canvas of our skin.” Michael doesn't scoff at the poetic corniness or say anything about Griffon’s obvious love of this part of her work.

“I want one.” Geoff’s smile gets bigger and Jack hums, unsure, but Griffon… she turns to face Michael, his eyes big and eager, his arm already held out like she's just going to slap one on him right then and there.

“Oh, and what would you get?” The cold in her voice seems to make him second-guess himself. If only because he can't think of a design.

He looks up at all of them then down to the blank expanse of skin. Jack can't understand why he would want to mar one of the few bits of unmarked skin left. “A duck.”

“Come again?” Griffon looks at him like he's finally gone mad and Geoff is spluttering something about ‘ridiculousness’ and ‘what did he say about drugs?’

“I want a green rubber duck,” he seems to think for a bit. “In that little achievement circle thingy.”

“Michael, sweetie,” Jack steps in and places her hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure that's what you want?” he nods. “Okay then… but why?”

“Well, our color is green right?”

“Our color is money.” everyone ignores Geoff.

“And you guys act all tough but you're really softies.” He looks away, his cheeks going a little pink. “Like a fluffy duckling. Which made me think of a rubber duck.” They just stare at him until Griffon sighs heavily.

“I'll do it.”

“Really?!”

“But only when you're 18!”

“But Mo-Griff!” she shoots him a glare and his jaw clamps shut. That was the end of that. Or it was until this past Saturday if she was hearing right.

Now she's walking calmly into their line of sight to reach the fridge and Michael seems to panic for a moment before gulping down his glass and trying to slip out unseen. There's a slight bulge towards the top of  his left shoulder blade in the shape of a square and she's willing to bet good money it's cellophane and gauze over a fresh tattoo.

“I see you Michael Jones, don't think you can get past me.” Geoff sniggers at the pout he makes. “And you too Ramsey,” he goes pale and gulps down his drink.

His hand doesn't shake as he pours himself another glass, the ice clinking away. But his knuckles are white and breathing a little quick. “How much did you happen to hear then?” he shoots her a heavy-lidded gaze, eyes hazy and tired, that lazy smirk quirking under his mustache.

“Enough to get you in some deep shit with the boss lady.” it gives her a deep sense of satisfaction the way Michael rolls his eyes at Geoff’s spluttering and sidles up to her. At fifteen and undernourished the kid is just a bit smaller than her and all muscle. She takes advantage of the slight height difference while she has it and rests her head on top of his.

He seems to make himself smaller and nuzzles up to her like a cat and hums so deep and low she swears it's a purr. “Mama,” she smiles softly at the title he had given to her after a long talk about family and house rules. “Don't let mom kill us.” he pulls away and keeps himself smaller as he looks up at her with his deep, sad, brown eyes and his freckled cheeks slightly puffed out. He learned soon after they took him in that he was particularly adorable for his age and had taken to using it to his advantage. She laughs.

“Fine, fine.” she pecks his forehead and pulls herself away to lean into Geoff, her hips pinning his against the counter. “But you, sir, owe me a date heist. Just the three of us.” he gulps as she plays with his stacked rings. “Think you can handle that, bigshot?”

He nods wordlessly and she smiles sweetly. Grabbing her packaged salad and heading out of the kitchen she hears Michael laughing at Geoff. “You are so whipped.”

“Oh go suck my dick.”

“So I can add incest and pedophilia to the list of things I'm telling mom?”

“I fucking hate you. Remind me why we kept you?”

They're both laughing and Jack is leaning on the wall just around the corner when she hears it, soft and sweet and enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“I love you too... dad.”


	4. Drago D'oro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Sun Dragon makes an appearance. And what's Burnie's problem?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr now has a Beauty For A Beast blog. Linking isn't working for me so look up Beauty For A Beast or follow me at secretly-a-cat-ao3

She's sitting across from Burnie (she refuses to call him dad right now), still primped and ready for a date that isn't happening anymore.

“I don't get why I have to be here.” she tosses ruffled curls over her shoulder and fights the urge to sit up straight in her seat. Her new dress was going to have so many wrinkles...

Burnie groans and hits his head against his desk again. “Goddammit Barb, for the last time, these are important people. Or at least they will be very soon. And if we don't help them get there someone else will.”

“Still not explaining my presence.”

“They have sons.” she scowls at him. “Not  **that** type of ‘they have sons’ the ‘they have adopted brats that are kind of their heirs already’ type.” the scowl softens but now she arches a brow at him. “Ugh, do you even know who's coming?”

“Nope,” she says, popping her gum on the P. Just one of a number of feats mastered through hours in front of her vanity mirror. A lackey pops their head in and she moves to stand to the left of his chair “Does it matter?”

He grunts as he buzzes the front desk to let his guests in. “It should,” a few papers are shuffled into place and she makes a few last second adjustments to his hair and collar. “It's the Fakes.” she snaps back to her place -tucked back a little behind his chair, one slim manicured hand just visible above his shoulder- as the door almost slams open.

When the group of five walk in she thinks she gives a right Oscar-worthy job of keeping a straight face. Of course, the fact she's mostly hidden in the shadows might have covered up her initial shock. The man leading the group is not what she expected of Ramsey. Messy despite his trademark expensive tux, well-groomed mustache, and sterling silver hip flask. His hair looks like it's never even seen a comb and his eyes don't seem to be focusing on anything. But the women with him… now they were crisp and sharp and beyond well put together. Their eyes were harder than Ramsey’s cold blue while still looking just so fucking soft and cuddleable and like you could just suffocate in the oppressing aura of badass loving mother. She liked to think she was one of a select few who had anything on Ramsey and his ladies, but even she wasn't expecting the matching sets of rings on each of their hands.

“Burns, good to see you man.” Ramsey’s smile is easy and to her shock Burnie stands to move around the desk, chuckling all the while. “Thanks for having us.”

“Dude, when I heard that the great Ramsey was rolling with a couple kids I had to get the story firsthand.” and there it is. That hard glint and firm set of his jaw. What had Ramsey done?

“Oh, you know how it is in our line of work Burnie,” the blonde pipes up and her mental file on Griffon Ramsey comes to the forefront. Simply put? Don't mess with her unless you want a long painful death. “People just love to talk.” one of the boy’s giggles… seriously giggles…

“These your boys then?” and now her attention is on the boy hiding behind Patillo and golden glasses. Fluffy not-quite-blond hair falls just short of his slightly larger than average nose but overall, not too bad for some rat off the streets.

“Church,” holy shit why was Ramsey using that name here? “May I introduce you to Gavino, a.k. the Golden Boy.” oh… Golden Boy… Ramsey’s heir...

Burnie’s eyes widen slightly. “ **_This_ ** is the Golden Boy?” now all eyes were on the kid and he puffs up as much as his skimpy frame will allow.

“You better believe it mate.” okay, thick British accent just boosted cute from ‘lost-puppy-level 6 to thinks-it's-so-tough-kitten-level ‘ _ eeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkk _ !!!’. “Gotta problem with that?”

Burnie chuckles. “And if I did?” he's moved into Gavin's personal space, an act of dominance. A test common amongst bosses when meeting heirs, gotta test their mettle. She knows the Ramseys understand and can respect their self-control in not running to his aide. “Whatcha gonna do punk?” his voice is low and there's the glint of a knife being twirled effortlessly in his fingers.

Gavin whimpers and shrinks in on himself.

There's a low growl, an honest to god growl and all of a sudden Burnie is bent back across his desk, winded and his own knife pressed against his throat. “Don't you fucking touch him.” Burnie laughs.

“Gonna introduce us Ramsey?” she can hear a tired sigh but she's not taking her eyes off the animal pinning her father. “Or can it speak for itself?” another growl and the blade draws a bead of blood.

“Michael J. Burns, meet Michael Vincent Ramsey-Jones.” Okay… full names… just who the hell was up with this guy not following protocol? “My ‘first born’.” oh… okay. Okay Barbara. This is the shit you were trained for. She steps out of her nook in the shadows.

“I mean, I wanna stick him most days too, but could you please not kill my dad?” and fuck, all eyes were on her. But she keeps her voice light and her smile wide. “That just sounds too messy to deal with right now.”

Ramsey laughs, Griffon smiles, and Patillo looks like she's trying to not follow Geoff’s example. “Oh fucking dicks man,” Ramsey wheezes. “Boys,” Gavin straightens up like a trained… something. “Meet Barbara Dunkelman, heir to the Cock-Bites legacy.” she winks at the boys and curtsies.

“Ello love, guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other then eh?”

“Michael,” Griffon says with a soft smile “Manners son.”

She turns her full attention back on Michael. His shoulders are stiff and straight and his grip on the blade lax against her father's throat. “Sembri un angelo di luce dorata…” Gavin starts chortling and Burns gives out a chuckle.

“Oh fuck Ramsey, kid is smoother than you ever were.” Michael gets up off Burnie.

He clears his throat and she can see a bit of colour on his cheeks. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance Miss Dunkelman.” A thick Jersey accent was so not what she was expecting when she heard him spewing Italian. It was Italian, right? But the boy is smiling at her like something out of a fairytale and okay, maybe this night won't be a total loss.

Somehow, she manages to wrangle all of them to the dining room. Ramsey and her father are giggling like schoolgirls about something and the women are looking on with benevolent smiles and calculating eyes. Was this entire night going to be a fucking test?

“Please be seated.” She's placed everyone very strategically she thinks. Her father and Ramsey are at the heads of the table. Ramsey’s wives(?) were given the choice of who sat at which side of him. And she sat Michael across from Gavin and herself.

“Why can't I sit next to my brother?” Michael grits out. He hasn't sat down yet.

“That's just not how things are done Michael.”

He looks like he's about to get mad, like he's about to bare his teeth and snarl at her like he did her father. Then it's gone. “Right, ceremony.” And he's relaxing with a sigh, rolling his shoulders slightly. “Then if that is how things are goi-”

“But that's bloody odd innit? Seperatin’ us like that. Isn't a hostess supposed to make sure ‘er guests are comfortable as possible?” Gavin is already seated.

Michael sighs, “Gav, she's seated  **_the heirs_ ** together.” he's moving past her.

Gavin's head whips around to look at him. “Wot?”

“ **_The heirs_ ** Gavin,” he grabs the back of her chair and pulls it out. “Seated together to foster a rapport and hopefully positive relations between the next generation.”

“Impressive.” her father says, and she takes that as her cue to take her seat. Michael pushes her chair in and Gavin is mumbling about old-fashioned nambies. “So, Gavin,” the boy's head shoots up. He waits until the staff finishes placing the first course, “How long until you are Declared?”

“Declared sir?”

“As Geoff's heir. Barbara has been Declared since she was thirteen.”

“Thirteen, really?” Patillo chimes in. “I'm guessing she's been defending her Declaration since then?”

Barbara straightens up and flips her hair back over her shoulder. “And unaided.” all but Michael look properly impressed. “So, Gavin, when do you plan to announce your Declaration? Or is that why you're here today?”

The Brit looks nervous. “A-actually.”

“He's not the heir.” Michael's voice is flippant, light. But his hand shakes slightly as he takes a sip from his coke. He looks at Burnie and whiskey eyes are alight with challenge. “ **I** am.”

Burnie’s eyebrows shoot up and he glares at Geoff. “I won't back this Ramsey.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Michael!” he smiles as he steps into the cozy cafe. No one pays him much attention after he pushes his jacket back to stick his hands in his jean pockets. His white tank top clinging to his torso shows nothing was strapped to his side or tucked into his waistband. Nodding to the usual barista and a few other well-placed bodyguards and grunts he made his way to the blonde tucked into a booth at the back.

“Hey Little Dragon.” he chuckles as she stands and throws herself at him. One arm wraps around her waist in a light hug.

“Oh, I missed you.” she's almost bouncing up and down in her usual energetic manner and he grips a little tighter to keep her still. “This is going to be so much fun!”

“Sure Goldie.” slipping into the seat facing the door he's a little shocked when she scoots in next to him.

She flashes him a bright smile. “Sorry, should I sit on the other side?”

“It's your coffee shop.” he shrugs and she's positively beaming. Over the next hour and a half or so she walks him through the small heist she'll be running. It isn't much more than a scare tactic against a rising politician put into place by some of the more prominent gangs of the city. No real threat, just that he seems to be getting a big head and talking to the wrong people.

“So, once you've got the goods and made the guy piss himself we head to this pub down here -we'll go in the back door and I'll give you the passcode for that the day of- and divvy up the score.” she takes a sip from her third mug of coffee and leans into Michael a little more. Some of the newer grunts glare at him for being so close to their boss's daughter but he doesn't care about that. What unnerves him is the way she's resting her head on his shoulder and almost trying to meld into his side. She hasn't done shit like this in years. And the way the older ones who are used to them are smiling like he can't see…

“Hey Barb,” she just hums in response. “You feeling okay?”

“Couldn't be better. Why?”

He just chuckles at her. “You seem a bit off.” she opens one eye and glances at him. “I'm serious, you haven't been this clingy with anyone outside your crew in years.” he pulls away from her a little and uses the hand she's not hindering to lift her chin, making her look up at him. “You know I'll help you in any way I can, right? All you gotta do is ask.” his voice is low and husky and dark, and his eyes have an intense look in them that scares her a little… and thrills her at the same time.

She smiles at him. “I've got a bet for you Michael.” something flashes across his face and she can see the wariness behind that intensity now. “If one of us messes up the heist they have to take the winner out to dinner.” his eyes go a bit wide and his hand drops.

“Dinner?” she nods. “Just the two of us?” another smile. “Like a date?” she leans into him and ducks her head down.

Her voice is a little small and hesitant, “Would that be so bad?”

“I guess not?”

“That sounded an awful lot like a question Ramsey.” her voice is sharper now but still so small.

“I can't Barb.” she stiffens and pulls away a bit. “Don't do that drago d'oro. I hate when you do that…”

“I'm fine.”

“Just hear me out before you block shit out? Please?” he takes her silence and slight relaxing as a yes. “I love you Barb, really I do, but not…” his free hand rakes through his hair then makes some sort of aborted helpless gesture in front of him. “Not like that.”

“I see. I'm sorry…” now she's resting her head on his shoulder again and leaning into his side but it's different now.

“I am too Barb. But I can't-” his voice hitches a little and she looks up at him through her fringed bangs. “I can't do that to you.”

“Do what Michael? Burden me with Mogar? Shove your ‘dark and mysterious baggage’ on me?” he won't look her in the eye. “Because I don't care about that. I care about you and all that entails.”

“You don't get it Barb.”

“Yes, I do. I'm saying that I think we could make it work.”

He sighs again and lets his head fall back against the overstuffed cushion. “Just please stop… I don't want to hurt you.”

“I helped run RWBY, I'm the Cock-Bite heir. Don't laugh.”  her eyes narrow as he starts to snicker. “I am the fucking Dragon of Los Santos, what could I not take?”

She notices the way he shuts down, his shoulder tensing against her. “It's not that I won't rope you into my shit. I just can't give you what you're asking for…” he watches her reaction from the corner of his eye. “And I don't want to fake it just to make life easier either.”

“Oooookaaaayyyy?”

“I can't love you like that.” he puts his hand over hers as she opens her mouth. “You're like a sister to me. We're way too alike and if we ever even tried it… I don't think Los Santos, or anywhere else we went, would survive.”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, “We're not fucking Ryan you know.”

“No, together we'd be even worse.”

“Alright then.”

“Alright?”

“So, it's not me?”

“Well-”

“You're just not into incest. Or combining two crazies that would make the late Mama Salem look like a friendly puppy.”

“Yes.” he sighed, his body not quite relaxing, and she pulled herself away. Getting out of the booth she dusts off her loose cardigan and yoga pants, waving off her guards as she turns back to Michael.

“Okay then. I'll back off.” she gathered her papers and chugged the last of her coffee. “But mark my words Michael Vincent Ramsey-Jones,” their eyes lock as she looks up. “I am going to find you someone to keep you human.”

“Wha- Barb!” but she ignored him, just giving him a wink as she heads out. He stares at the door as her guards slowly filter out behind her. “What the fuck?” It's a long walk from the cafe back to the base. And his bike is right there. But a walk sounds kinda like a good idea right now. Yeah, a nice walk in the muggy evening air of Los Santos… He's walked two blocks when he turns back around.

The phone rings once before he picks up. “I'm kinda busy here.”

“Alright, fucking whatever, just call me when you can alright? I-” he sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair nervously. He's too preoccupied to care about the small timers and civilians eyeing his way too recognizable face. “I'm headed to The Rings.”

“Hold up,” there's the sounds of a half-assed argument as Geoff brushes off whoever he had been talking to. “Alright, I'll let Burnie know you're headed over and send someone to meet you.”

“Sure,” Michael grunts as he forces his helmet over his curls. Hopefully he had a beanie or two in his locker at The Rings. “Just make sure Caleb is on standby. If I'm gonna pummel some people, only polite we send our doc to clean up the mess.”

As soon as Michael hung up Geoff giggled and pushed off from his desk, making his chair spin and the room blur. “Yes! Yes! Fuck yes!!” as the chair slowed he pulled out his phone reserved for the B-Team and pressed the first speed dial. “This is fucking perfect.”

“You had better not be drunk dialing me again.”

“Good to hear from you too Tuggey, I have a VERY important job for you.”


	5. Up On the Rooftops or The Birth Of A Golden Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael meets some little British fuck while trying to escape the bullshit Geoff says he has to go through. Why the fuck is the little bastard sitting on the ledge?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr now has a Beauty For A Beast blog. Linking isn't working for me so look up Beauty For A Beast or follow me at secretly-a-cat-ao3

_ It's been six years since the British hacker was brought in wet and cold and far too hungry. _

“Late on the first day?” the woman standing  at the front of the classroom seemed like she was even less enthused to be there than her students. And her thick accent didn't make it any better. He just scowled, passing her his schedule sheet and the note from the principal. “Hmm, new to the district are we?” she opened the folder on her podium and flicked through it a bit before resting on one page. “Here you are, Ramsey-Jones, Michael… Ramsey…” she slowly turned her head to look at him. “Would that be your mother's name or your father's?”

Michael was saved from answering as the door to the classroom slammed open, “Michael,” Geoff panted. In an outstretched hand dangled a small cooler sized insulated lunch pack. “Forgot *pant, pant* give you *huff pant* the lunch *huff huff swallow* girls packed.” the rest of the classroom watched in mild horror as Michael walked up and took the bag from the tattoo encrusted hand. The man looked up at him from his bent over position and smiled softly.

“Thanks dad.” Despite his slight blush Michael glared at the other students when he heard the sounds of cameras going off and small gasps of disbelief. “What?” he snapped and most of the hands holding phones dropped.

The teacher cleared her throat, “Perhaps we should all delete whatever pictures were taken of Mr. Ramsey and his son… and perhaps pass your devices forward.”

Geoff straightened up and placed his hands in the pockets of his crumpled dress pants. “And I sure as hell hope no smart-ass dickface posts or sends shit anywhere. I mean, not like there are people who can track that shit.” more hands fell. Michael rolled his eyes as Geoff walked up and leaned on the podium the teacher stood behind. “Nice to meet you Miss-?”

“ **Madame** Gatineau.”

“Right, Madame Achoo, well my boy Michael here can be a handful,” Michael scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Trust me, he will try everything from puppy-dog eyes to his incredibly threatening impression of a hulk and wolverine hybrid in a tiny viking body to get his way.” some of the students snickered while others cowered and maybe whimpered a little as Michael made his way to an empty seat near the middle of the class. “I will not condone that sorta bullshit, all of his teachers will be getting an email saying how he can't bully anyone for a better grade or use his charms to get out of punishment. He WILL be a normal student.”

“Y-yes Mr. Ramsey, of course.”

“If any problems arise,” he reaches into his jacket and everyone flinches, “Call my office.” he's holding a business card out to her between his index and middle finger and she gapes wide-eyed at his lazy smirk and heavy-lidded gaze.

She nods mutely and he turns to face the class. “You behave yourself you little shit.” he smirks as Michael glares at him with a smile. “I expect A’s and nothing but praise about what a good little boy you are.”

“Oh fuck you.” Geoff giggles at Michael’s stream of curses as he walks out the door. Yeah, his boy would be fine.

But despite his jokes and easygoing demeanor Michael was pissed. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to deal with stupid kids and their stupid imbalanced hormones and adults on power-trips. He didn't have the patience for Madame Gatineau and her too fast French, Mr. Roark and his forced southern twang, or Miss Treble and the way she batted her eyes at every football player in her class. So as soon as the bell rang for lunch he sprinted out of Treble’s English class, ducked through hallways and courtyards with disabled cameras -no he did not know how that happened, why do you ask?- and made his way to an empty rooftop. Or what he had assumed was an empty rooftop.

“Dude, what the fuck?!” he was met by an ear grating squawk as he pulled the boy off of the ledge he had been sitting on. “Do you have a fucking death wish? Jesus fuckin Christ!” The other boy ignored him and scrambled back to the ledge, pulling up a pair of binoculars and placing them on his eyes as he leaned a little too far out for Michael's liking.

“Yeah, you're good, no cops yet.”

“What the hell is goi-” he's cut off by the binoculars shooting towards him and a triumphant yell from the punk on the ledge.

“Congrats boys,” he laughs into the comm piece he's pulled out of his ear. “You just completed your first official heist.” Michael sighs and leans back against an AC unit. He reaches into his bag, pulls out the first tupperware container and begins eating the lobster and rice meal packed for him as the obviously British idiot haggles out drop points for his cut.

“So do they know they're relying on a foreign high school twig with shitty binoculars and a subpar com system?” he glances up to see the other boy looking at him strangely. Rolling his eyes he stabs his fork into some lobster, wipes his hand on his jeans, and sticks it out to him. “The name's Michael.” he holds up the plate, “Lobster?”

The other boy giggles, fucking giggles, and takes the offered hand. “Gavin Free, and why the bloody hell not?”

It's a bit of a rough start, but really it doesn't take long for the two to become what might be considered friends. They were both new, both outcasts, and had a set of skills that certain circles were willing to pay decent money for. But Michael was intrigued by the foreign kid who wasn't scared of him. Hell, the kid didn't even seem to know who he was at first.

So he decides to help Gavin hunt down some decent suppliers for his technological needs -which really gets his heist aiding hobby soaring. And Gavin connects one of his numerous smartphones to the school's system, keeping an eye on Michael's grades and permanent record. The older boy finds an outlet for his rage in Gavin’s bullies and the Brit makes a habit of screening the school's automated message system, intercepting -and deleting the records of- calls to the Ramsey household. They're not entirely sure when they crossed the line of friendship to… whatever the fuck this was. So if there are rumors about Ramsey’s brat and the British weirdo hiding out during free periods or found draped across each other underneath one of the school's shade trees as they picked at a shared lunch then they didn't mind them. It was just another wall between them and the rest of the world.

“Hey boi?”

“Yeah boi?”

“Have you officially stopped bringing your own lunch?” Gavin looks up from where he's leaning against Michael's side, fingers frozen over the pc in his lap.

It takes a beat too long but then he's giggling and stealing from Michael's plate. “Well I figured why bother when you tell me to forget about it anyway.” There's something more, something heavy in his voice and how his eyes glazed over a little but Michael isn't going to push. So he settles for watching.

Some weeks are better than others. Gavin brings little snacks to munch on during class, he's more energetic and actually turns down a few gigs to spend time hanging out with Michael. The weeks that Michael is a normal occurrence at the Free house and the two play a shitton of videogames. Gavin is all giggles and wide smiles and soft coos of love and admiration for his parents. Parents who smile too much, are too accommodating, and are just too pristine. But hey, look at his basis of comparison.

Then there's the rest of the time. Long periods of Gavin being too busy with jobs to hang out after school and sharing all of Michael's snacks and food. As soon as he noticed, Michael started dragging Gavin home with him after school on those days. There were never any calls to the Free household, letting his parents know he would be staying out that night and it doesn't take long for Gavin’s name to show up on the chores roster in the kitchen. And Michael can't help the warm feeling in his chest when Gavin squawks at the eternal sticky note on the door across from his reminding Gavin to clean up what has become his room.

There would be some of the good days in between, when Gavin would go to his own home and come to school bright and happy and laughingly scarf down his own homemade lunch. And they made something in Michael hurt, they just made it even harder to sit back and watch when Gavin would clam up. The dark days would turn into entire weeks and no matter what he did Gavin wouldn't say a word on the subject. It had been one of the good weeks when Gavin came to school quietly. No loud crash on his bicycle, no antics or calling out for his boi as he stumbled through the gates. Just silence. His hood drawn and earbuds in as he tapped away at his phone.

“Hey boi!”

“Fuck off.”

Michael stepped back as if he had been struck. “Woah man, what the hell?”

“None of your business.”

“Something's bothering my boi, that makes it my business.”

“Not everything can be fixed with your fists or cash.” Gavin squawks as Michael grabs the back of his collar and drags him off to the side of the courtyard. “Why are you always dragging me around? Literally!”

“I'm worried about you Gavvers, something's wrong. I've tried keeping my distance but-”

“Good, great, fine by me. Keep your bloody distance.” he shoved Michael's shoulder as he brushed past. “Stay out of my fucking life.”

And the good days ended. Gavin would walk around with his head hung low and tapping away at one or more of his numerous smartphones and tablets. Most breaks found him on the roof of the school, talking business over the phone with some crew or gang. Michael really started to worry when he overheard Gavin having to talk himself out of a corner with Fakehaus, a crew he had helped get off the ground. Griffon and Jack would still make Geoff pack him a shitton of food to share with Gavin and Michael tried leaving the Brit’s favorite dishes in his usual rooftop retreat as a sort of silent peace offering. But they were always left untouched.

It's when Michael spots Gavin walking to school in the rain in the same clothes he's been wearing the past three days and stumbling around like he's drunk that he finally says ‘fuck it.’ Pulling over he notices the way Gavin doesn't even flinch at the roar of the motorcycle or the gutter muck that was splashed onto his Union Jack and Star Spangled converse.

“Gavin.” No response. “Free.” the boy's eyes flick up to look at him before he pushes off the wall he had been leaning against and trudges on. Michael puts the bike in park and starts following him. “So, what's a pretty face like yours doin this side o’ town?” Gavin scoffs at the old joke but otherwise ignores him. But that's all the encouragement Michael needs to start talking.

It all comes out. How worried he has been about Gavin, what little things about him he had noticed that only added fuel to the fire, and even answered a few questions Gavin had always asked about his own home life. Sure he shouldn't really be telling someone outside of the crew or the fucking team of therapists his parents had hired for him. But Gavin was his boi, his best friend. Gavin was his brother, he was- he was falling over! Michael slides and scrapes a knee rushing over and kneeling down to catch the other boy. “Gav, Gavin?!” he manages to turn him around so his face is no longer buried in his shoulder. Cradling him with one arm Michael fumbles in his pocket for his phone. “Come on boi, talk to me!”

“Michael?”

“Mom, I need you to pick us up!”

“What? Sweetheart, what's going on?”

“P-please, mom, it's- It’s Gavin, I-” his hand clenches on the phone as he takes deep shuddery breaths. “He-he's burning up a-and I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, don't move baby, I'll be right there. Can you tell me where you are?”

“I-I don't know. A couple blocks west of the school? Not too far from my bike.”

“Okay,” he hears someone shouting in the background. “Don't worry baby, you just tell me what happened.” another shuddering breath and he shakily tells her what little he knows, what little he's seen and been able to piece together.

It takes about five minutes for a black car with green detailing to pull up. Michael uses his body to shield Gavin from the murky splash caused by the car skidding into park in a puddle. “Hey, fucking watch it!”

“Michael!”

“Mom!” he sags forward into her hold as she wraps the two boys in a thick blanket. She's somehow got her arms around both boys and Michael sniffles into her shoulder, the scent of lavender settling something deep in his chest. “I don't know what's going on. He's r-really burning up mom.”

“Let me have a look Michael,” cool hands reach into the blanket and help Griffon pry the British lad out of Michael's desperate grasp. Caleb keeps talking about getting both boys back to one of the safehouses and Michael can hear Griffon insisting on the penthouse, but he's focused on the too still form in Caleb’s arms.

“What was that sweetie?” Griffon is leaning close to Gavin’s pale face. Michael scrambles away from faceless arms trying to hold him back.

“Gavvy? What is it Gavvers?”

It's weak and raspy but Michael's hand latches onto Gavin’s as he's able to whisper, “D-don't go. Don't wanna be ‘lone. Not alone ‘gain.”

“I'm here Gavin, not alone. I've got you little brother.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

“-undernourished and slightly dehydrated.” that's the first thing Gavin hears as the light behind his eyelids starts to register. It hurts to move, hurts to breath. Fuck, it hurts to think. “We called the house number and even sent a couple guys to check it out. No one there.”

“Are you sure? What about their cellphones?”

“Voicemail.”

He lets out a strained sigh that comes out more like a moan and manages to bring a heavy hand up to his pounding head. “Business trip. Prolly on an’ther ruddy airplane.”

“Gavin!” there's a soft hand taking his away from his head, making the pounding start up again. He whimpers and there's cool fingers carding through his hair, soft words chasing the pain away. “You had us worried there sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” he manages to open his eyes enough to see Griffon’s worried expression. “Michael?” his question is followed by the sound of shattered glass and Geoff’s cracking yell.

She chuckles. “That boy is tearing the kitchen apart, he keeps saying you'll be hungry soon as you get up and wanted to make sure there was plenty for you to eat.”

“Get your fucking dick the fuck out of my kitchen!”

“It's the family's kitchen you asshole!”

“I paid for it, that makes it my kitchen!”

Griffon sighed and Gavin chuckled. “That all cause of me then?”

“Yeah sweetie,” she smiled at him. “Should I bring those assholes in here?” he shakes his head as vehemently as a bedridden, sleep deprived, malnourished teenager can.

Caleb comes forward and says something about more rest and Gavin finds himself nodding in answer to some question he can't remember. Then he's warm and fuzzy and humming in time with the cool hands running through his hair and the murmur of a whispered lullaby. He was going to be okay. No more late nights waiting for parents who weren’t coming home that week, no more empty house with just a note and a tenner for groceries while they’re away. No more missed birthdays and skipped meals cause there’s no one to remind him to eat. He wasn’t alone. Never alone again. He was home.

Michael hovers over him as he sleeps and Jack has an arm wrapped around the worried boy’s shoulders. He should have been here when Gavin woke up. “What’s going to happen now?”

“Well,” Geoff sighs and lays one hand on Michael’s curls. “You found him, just like we found you.” Michael gives him a confused looking pout. “It means he’s a part of this family. We didn’t know we were missing one of our sons, but now that he’s here,” The hand leaves his hair and Geoff moves to sit on the edge of the bed, in that small slot between the sleeping boy and the nervous bundle of overprotective instincts in the chair without really separating them, never separating them. “And now nothing is ever going to hurt him again. Not our boy.”

Michael sniffs. “We should get him something, like a welcome to the family gift.”

“Okay sweetie, we’ll all get him a little something.” Griffon smiles at him as Jack wraps her second arm around the boy, holding him close. “Was there something special you wanted to get him?”

He nods and reaches into the back of his jeans. “I was actually kinda planning on trying to use it as a peace offering before he passed out on me.” He hands Geoff the black glasses case and the man opens it, his eyes flicking to his son as the light hits what’s inside. Nestled in an obviously too expensive bed of silk and velvet are a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses. Michael smiles and takes the open case to show Jack. “And they have gold plating shit in the lenses, like astronaut helmets.” His face is lit up like he was talking about one of his new bombs or a drawing he got just right. “So it keeps his eyes from hurting after he fucks them up looking at a computer screen all night and looks really cool...hopefully.”

Geoff just sighs and massages the bridge of his nose. “And you actually bought a pair of practically pure gold sunglasses why?”

“He likes gold,” Michael shrugs. “Some of his friends back in England still call him Golden Boy when they skype and shit.”

Jack laughs and hugs Michael tighter. “I like it,” She looks down at Gavin. “Our little golden boy.” He smiles at her. “And our warrior.”

He grins at his parents, taking his brother’s hand in his own. “Michael and Gavin Ramsey, the lads of the Fake AH Crew… We’ll be fucking unstoppable.”


	6. Babysitter 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin, and Ryan are the usual go-to's if the Ramseys need someone to keep an eye on Michael. But they can't be everywhere at once and Gavin doesn't want someone who can't handle his boi... or keep a secret. Cause of course he has a plan.

She didn't like jobs that sent her to the Rings. If she could, she avoided going anywhere near them. Over the years she had even gone so far as to use her position in the Fakes as the head of the B-Team -and occasionally the main crew’s only connection to the actual gang- to manipulate plans and people to have her way. 

“Fucking bastard sending me on some babysitting job…” she grumbled as the all too familiar sight of the seemingly dilapidated warehouse came into view. “And to the fucking Rings.” there really was fuck-all she could do if Boss Ramsey personally asked her specifically to take care of this job.

“Hold up there.” a thug stepped out of the shadows cast by the flickering lightbulb over the rusted side door. “Show your tag.”

She rolled her eyes but opened the side of her unbuttoned blazer, pulling one of the drunk’s business cards out of an exposed inner pocket. “I'm a Fake, buddy. Here on business. So move aside already.” the guy scoffed.

“Like I'm supposed to believe a little girl with a piece of paper?” he's laughing at her and right now that's all she needs to slip her fingers into the knuckle dusters in her pants pockets. Her smile is sweet as she stalks towards him and he seems to get what is going through her head because he's stopped laughing now. He's tense but smug and his stance sloppy. This was going to be fun.

“Linds!” she groans and lets the padded brass fall back into her pockets. “There you are, love.” Gavin lopes up, his bike haphazardly parked in the shadows.

“Evenin’ Free.” the thug’s eyes narrow in on the gangly Brit covered in gold chains and the handle of a gold plated pistol sticking out of his waistband. Lindsay shifts her stance so she's between the two. “You my babysitting job?”

He rolls his eyes at her snark and chuckles. It's surprisingly low and rumbly for his small frame and the bouncer takes a step back. “I'm your back-up, dearie.” she raises one eyebrow in question. “Our lad is probably inside already,” he gently brushes past her straight to the rusted door. When the bouncer tries to take a step towards him Lindsay rushes forward, pushing the man up against the wall. “Down, girl.” Gavin giggles and she releases the man with a huff. What was the point of assigning a guard if they wouldn’t let her beat the crap out of someone?

“So, LilJ up tonight then?” she asked as Gavin flashes the tattoo on his collarbone at a slit in the door.

“Nah, he's off with some bird I think.” walking through the crowd, people part for the kid and his bodyguard as she tries not to just drag him up to the Coop. “Might even bring her to his next fight actually.” She chokes on air, getting a strange look from the bouncers sporting Cock-Bite’s logo on their beefy arms. This time all it takes is just flashing Ramsey’s card at the nearest muscle with a CockBite tattoo, along with a slight nod at Gavin’s oblivious rambling, and they're shuffled past the wide eyed men guarding the velvet ropes. “That's exactly wot I said innit?! Wot nice bird wants to be dragged to a place like this?”

A thick New York voice calls out. “My place not good enough for you then, Free?” The Coop goes quiet. Bosses from all sorts of gangs and crews throughout the state warily eyeing the curly haired man as he glares at the smug little Brit. Lindsay just hopes their women are really the wives, lovers, and whores they seem to be, she does not need a room full of Griffons right now...  Gavin just laughs his strange dying bird laugh and walks over.

“Nothin’s good enough for a Ramsey,” both men are smiling at each other now. “But I don't mind slummin’ it.”

The other man busts out laughing and claps one arm around Gavin’s shoulders. “Nice to see ya Gavino, been too long buddy.” He nods at Lindsay, permission to move freely in this, his world. “How’re the folks?”

Lindsay moves ahead of them and waits by an empty table. It has a good view of the main ring and the door while still being well protected and in view of Burns’ guys. “Oh you know, just business,” Gavin takes a shot off a passing tray. “What about you and your own golden child?”

“Barbara is doing fine as I'm sure you know.” Lindsay allows herself a soft smile at the mention of Yang but schools her features when she notices Burns side-eyeing her. He may be buzzed but she's willing to bet it's mostly an act. “She's mentioned some sort of pet project and dragged Micah out for some bribery shopping.” he takes a large swig from his beer and fixes Gavin with a piercing glare. “You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would ya kid?”

Gavin’s face is quizzical and he hums like he's actually thinking, but Lindsay would almost swear that he was just being a prick. “Nah, can't say I do, mate.” he leans forward conspiratorially, “but I'd keep an ear to the ground if I were you.”

“Shit going down?”

Gavin waves at Lindsay to sit down beside him as the corny announcement music starts playing. “There's a weapon out on the market and more’n a few buyers.”

“What sorta weapon?”

“Let me know when our boy is up would ya?” Gavin winks at her and scoots closer to the gang boss. She rolls her eyes but shifts to have a clearer view of the stained mat and yellowed, flickering lights above it.

“What sorta weapon Gavvey?”

She's just able to catch a bit of Gavin’s response before the music hits a deafening crescendo, “Somethin’ that could burn Los Santos to the ground.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer walks onto the mat in the usual flurry of confetti and crew logos being shot above the ring. “Welcome, to the Rrrrriiiiiiings!!” the place erupts in shouting and earsplitting applause from the lower seats. She shakes her head at the offer of alcohol from a passing waiter. “Here, in this temple of simple combat, this refuge from the world of crew against crew and runnin from the pigs,” he walks up to the creaky old cage in the center and climbs in. As it rises he goes on about the unity the Rings represent ever since Pollioni and his men were run out and the kids they had been trafficking  rescued. About their ‘saviors’ the FakeAH, who hadn't been more than a small crew back then. And about the spearhead of the whole thing… Mogar. She sneered at the name and felt her nails digging into her palms. Blood began to seep through her fingers as a head of reddish brown curls beneath a black and green beanie ducks beneath the ropes.

Clutching a microphone in one wrapped hand he glares at what probably just looks like shadows behind too-bright-lights to him. “I don't understand why the fucker in the monkey box or the idiot who runs this shithole wants me to talk to you idiots, but here we are.” there's a ripple of laughter. “So, yeah, have fun watching me beat the crap outta some chumps. Mogar, out.” His smile is cocky and he uses his middle finger to push his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose as he exits the mat.

Burns is laughing at Mogar’s attitude and some of the other big-wigs are making bets and talking odds now that Mogar has been added onto the board. He’s still standing off to the side of the ring, a man with light brown hair and ears she could see from here wrapping his knuckles. “Heh, now he is a beauty aint he?” She jumps a little as Gavin leans back from her ear. “I think my boi is too pretty for ‘is own good sometimes.”

“Mogar? Beautiful?” she scoffs, letting her scarlet hair fall like a curtain between them as she looks back at the fighter. “He’s a monster.”

“Monster eh?” of course he could hear her mutters… “Now he is many things, but I’ve only witnessed his monstrosity once…”

“You talkin about the time we ran Pollioni and his bitches outta here?” Burns is leaning across the table and she might worry for his wellbeing if he wasn’t a friend of the drunk’s. She was sure the man was more than capable of holding his liquor. “That motherfucker down there,” he gestures at Michael. “Challenged every. Single. One. Of Pollioni’s bitches.” a slightly slurred cheer goes up through the Coop.

“If you don't mind me saying gentlemen, but that's common knowledge.” Gavin just smiles and shakes his head. “But it is. Everyone knows that about a year and a half after the Fakes got ahold of Mogar, they came waltzing in backed by almost half of the biggest names in the underground and an angsty teen with a vendetta.”

“Two.”

“What?”

Gavin shoots her a lazy grin that is eerily like Geoff’s. “They had two angsty teens with a vendetta at that point.” he takes a sip of his beer and she notices one hand playing with the gold-plated glasses he was known for. “Once Michael gets it into his head that someone is his responsibility, there's no convincing him otherwise. Soon after Geoff and Jack finished up my paperwork he kept goin’ on about someone he left behind in The Rings. Felt real guilty about it.” he peers at her through his pale lashes but she's transfixed on the fight unfolding below them. He hums. “And I woulda followed him to hell and back if he asked me.”

“After you pissed yourself!” Burns laughs. Gavin rolls his eyes and turns back to the redhead at his side.

“Geoff didn't want him fighting, but Jack and Griffon bullied  **him** into bullying  **other** crews and gangs into makin’ it happen.”

“Making what happen?”

He flicked his glasses open and she noticed that they were scratched up, the rims dented, and one of the lenses cracked, as he put them on. “Mogar challenged all of Los Santos for the right to take down Pollioni.”

She shakes her head and grabs a beer from the bucket one of Burns’ people had brought to their table. “I don't get why you're telling me all this.”

“You haven't gotten our mark yet have you?” her eyes zero in on the black and green mark on Michael's back. Even from here she can see how vibrant it still is after all this time.

“Even more reason not to be telling me shit.”

Again with that fucking smirk. “Even more reason to be telling you.”

“Why?”

There's a bell and Gavin shoots up, arms stretched over his head like the goal thing they do for soccer. He's whooping and hollering as the light catches on the gold spattered across his body and the golden streaks in his sandy blonde hair. She tears her eyes away from this too-bright entity to look at the rings. And there he is. He's standing over his latest opponent, but he's not smiling, not basking in the high of coming out on top. Just taking deep breaths and helping the bloody mess up off the floor, walking him over to the sidelines, and chugging a bottle of water. Gavin’s quieted down again, ass back in the chair. But he's tense. His elbows set on his thighs and hands clamped tight as he leans towards the mat.

“Mogar's a wildcard.” his voice is low and tight. “We can't always be there for him, the crew and I,” this is sounding awfully familiar… “So they figured the best option, was to help him fall in love.”

Her stomach drops and something hot is building in her chest. “What?”

He doesn't look at her as he sags forward, like someone put the weight of a crew on his shoulders. “Geoff and the ladies are gonna be throwin’ more’n a shitton of girls ‘is way. I've seen the list, and it scares me. I,” he takes a deep breath and his shoulders stiffen. “I need somebody reliable to keep an eye on ‘im.” She can feel his eyes piercing through her behind his dark glasses as he turns to look at her.

“So, what you're saying is,” she turns to focus on the fight again. “You want me to step in as babysitter while all this is going down.” he nods. “Why me?”

“I've heard nothin’ but good things about Ruby Rose and the crew New republic, but no one knows what happened to them.” she has to make a conscious effort to stay relaxed. To not let him see how hard it is to sit still here without a weapon in her hands as he prattles on. “I'd love to get in contact with Rose, but Barbara won't help me out. Damnably loyal, that girl.”

“Barbara Burns?”

He chuckles, “Most people know her as Yang nowadays. But then again, there is Kimball who might have been a good choice.”

“Kimball?” her voice did not break or come out as a strangled squeak.

“Yeah, used to be in charge of the merc group New Republic few years back.” he turns to look at her and sighs. “Are you really gonna make me do this? I mean, it’s late, I’m gettin’ tired already and I have to deal with that asshole after this.” he motions at Mogar who’s actually on the defensive for once. “I need someone capable who’s not married to the idea o’ loyalty to the Ramsey’s before all else. I need you.” And his opponent goes down.

“Why me?”

“I told you why.” she shakes her head and leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. He sighs and runs a hand through his stylishly tousled hair. “Alright, I’ll come clean. I saw the files of candidates they’ve got lined up and I’m lookin’ up anything they missed. But I can’t be everywhere and I don’t trust Brownman or the Vagabond to keep an eye on things. At least not without telling him what’s going on or destroying something to keep him from finding out.” she has to laugh at that one. But what he was asking was dangerous. Everyone knew about the strange bond shared by the faces of the FakeAH crew, a bond that was as terrifying as it was intriguing. And he was asking her to dive in headfirst without a life jacket or oxygen tank. She looked down at the ring, Mogar stood in the very center, screaming at the referee to bring out the next chump.

But that's not what she saw when she watched that mop of unruly auburn curls.

She smiled a soft smile that honestly kind of confused Gavin. Tuggey wasn't soft, and no one found Mogar's rage endearing.

“I’ll do it.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Michael liked the quiet after a good fight. That calm place he found himself in when the adrenalin was still washing over him dulling the ache in his knuckles and bruises but the need to move, to break, to destroy...it was gone. He liked to just sit and breath it in, the heady scent of victory and the sharp tang of the blood still on his hands. Something dribbled down his chin and he swiped his tongue at the bead of blood trickling out of the split in his lip. A slight shudder rolls down his spine.

“Good show, Jones.” the referee/bookie said as he counted out Michael's winnings. “Then again, wouldn’t expect anything less of course.”

He grunts noncommittally and glances at the kids weaving through the late night/early morning crowd sweeping up, wiping down tables, cleaning off the bar. “How many of them are indentured?” the man just looks at him. “Yeah, big word I know.” He and the bookie share a chuckle. “But seriously, how many of these kids are owned by the Rings?”

The guy sighs and sticks Michael’s money in an envelope. “I get what you’re trying to do kid. It’s real sweet of ya, you know, for a criminal. But most of these kids haven’t got anywhere else to go anyway, this is all they know.” Michael huffs.

“Boi!” Gavin yells as he swaggers through the thinning crowd of small-timers and off-duty grunts. “Now that was a marathon, eh?”

“Hey Gav.” He smiled, running one bandaged hand through his sweat soaked hair. “Thanks for comin’ out and everything.” The bookie walks off.

Gavin waves him off with a chuckle. “Just takin’ care of my boi.” Michael rolls his eyes as Gavin plops beside him on the edge of the mat and shifts about. Squirming around until he’s leaning back on Michael’s side. Letting out a quiet sigh he takes off the beat up sunglasses and pulls out a cloth to start wiping at the lenses with. “Though I suppose there’s somethin else you’re wantin’ to ask me?”

Michael laughs and jostles his brother off of him. It’s hard to control himself when Gavin falls to the floor with a squawk. “Now why would you think I want something?”

“Oh come off it, mate.” Gavin pouts up at him from the floor. “Help me up or I’m not tweakin’ any numbers for ya.” When Michael taps his chin like he’s mulling it over there’s a heavy sigh behind him. He tenses as a bright red head of hair brushes past him towards Gavin faster than he can stand and grab them.

“Come on, Free,” The girl sounds the tired sort of pissed off. And he smiles thinking of the same tone always settling in Griffon’s voice. From where he is, he can tell she’s pretty. Prettier and a little on the slight side for one of Geoff’s girls. But he can see the callouses on her knuckles and the ripple of tight muscle under the white dress shirt she has on. “Let's not roll ‘round in whatever the hell is on the floors, huh?” A slim hand brushes scarlet strands behind her ear and he can feel the irritation building.

“Who the fuck is this bitch?” Gavin shoots him a sharp look and he just rolls his eyes, “Sorry,” he turns back to the girl, still looking at the idiot she's dusting the floor muck off of. He’s about to say some half-assed introduction. About to make nice to some grunt who’s climbing the ranks quickly enough to catch Gavin’s eye. But then he looks at her. Her eyes are a mossy green. Green and sparking and he can’t think as she straightens up to stand almost nose to nose with him. Her heels make her little less than an inch shorter than him and he notices the way her hands slip into her pockets. “Hi.”

She arches one eyebrow at him and her lips slant into a small frown. “Evenin’” He numbly takes the hand she holds out. “Name’s Tuggey, Lindsay Tuggey.” He scrunches his nose at the bad Bond joke and she chuckles. “Ramsey sent me to babysit Free.” He just nods.

“Nice to meet you Linds.” there the eyebrow goes again. “Call me Michael.” And now Gavin’s forehead caterpillars fly into his bleached bangs. He ignores it and goes on, “Is it too much to hope that you’re not pulling double duty tonight?”

“Double duty?”

“Yeah, officially babysitting the apparent heir and really keeping an eye on yours truly?” She chuckles and he grins.

“That obvious, Sherlock?”

He shrugs as Gavin takes his hands and starts unwrapping the blood soaked bandages around his knuckles. “Just the M.O. of the Ramseys.”

“Oh stop mopin’ you knob.” Gavin smacks his arm and leaves little streaks of blood from his fingertips. “Now why don’t you tell me how much you emptied Burnie’s pockets this time?”

He just hands the envelope over to the girl, Lindsay. She lets out a low whistle. “This’ll buy you at least three Legals, maybe five kids. And lord knows how many newbies.” Gavin side-eyes her. “And with silver-tongue here to sweet-talk the stable manager, you could free up maybe half the kids working the floor.” She looked up at him and his breath caught in his throat. Mossy green eyes were now a deep emerald as they locked onto him through light brown eyelashes. “That is, if I heard you and the bookie right, earlier.”

“Our girl here’s got a head for numbers now don’t she?” Gavin is smiling that wide charmer smile and his fingers have gotten a bit fluttery where they work over his own.

Michael shakes his head and chuckles, using his free hand to push at the Brit. “Down, boy.” Lindsay straightens up and glares at him. He rolls his eyes and smirks at her. “Oh come on, you think he’s this nice to all his guards? Knowing him he orchestrated this whole meet up just to have an excuse to talk to you outside of a deal.” She cocks one eyebrow and glances at Gavin.

“Michael,” Gavin manages to look affronted as he drops the hand he was doctoring. “You really think I would manipulate our dear Geoffrey in order to spend time with this little dear?” he moves over to Lindsay and Michael frowns at the way she tenses up when Gavin slowly starts circling her. His hands are up in a non threatening position but she follows his every move out of the corner of her eye. Her reaction is faster than he can follow when Gavin curls his hand around a stray lock of bright red hair and twirls it around his finger in what he must think is a seductive manner. Her knuckles are white and Gavin's face twisted in displeasure at her tight grip.

Michael snorts, “I don’t think she’s into you dude.” she drops his hand and the Brit cradles it close to his side.

“Well,” Gavin sniffs. “No accountin’ for taste.” He notices that she’s hesitant when she puts down the envelope and reaches out for the hand Gavin had started on. Her touch is soft but her callouses still scratch his skin and her fingers fumble a bit. But she’s capable. Capable and smiling as Gavin pouts.

He’s letting himself relax, the sound of Gavin trailing after the bookie, working his magic, as Lindsay wipes down his bloody knuckles mixing with the post-fight buzz he’s still riding. But it’s short lived. There’s a blaring, obnoxious, completely unnecessary ringtone cutting through his zen. “Dude, what the fuck!” Gavin’s smile is sheepish as he fumbles with the device.

The idiot manages to unlock his phone and somehow answer the call without dropping anything. “Go,” His demeanor is different, the playfulness gone. A contact then. “I said call me  **first** ,  **why** am I the  **last** to know this?” he snaps his fingers and one of the bouncers runs off towards the office connected to the Coop. “I am coming over, and there had better be no complications when I arrive.” there’s a pause and a shadow seems to fall over his face, something cold and hard glinting in his eyes. “Then I’ll be sure to bring insurance,” He pulls the phone away from his face just enough so he doesn’t blow the eardrums of the guy he’s in the process of intimidating and looks towards the open door of Burnie’s office. “Vagabond!”

“What?” The amused southern timbre would be kind of endearing if it hadn’t come from a six foot pillar of muscle bound in dark leather and the face of death on it’s shoulders as it emerged from the shadows.

“You’re with me.” The Vagabond turns to look at Michael and the girl before him.

“You’ve got a guard.”

“She’s staying with Mogar.”

“Gav, you can’t just-”

“Tuggey, I’m assigning you as Mogar’s tail until further notice.”

“A tail?!” And there goes his sense of peace. “I don’t need a fucking-”

“What about the boss?” Thank the lord for Vagabond.

Gavin doesn’t look up from typing away at his phone. He must have hung up with the soon to be victim. “He wanted to give her an experience job anyway,” His fingers still and he looks up to glare at the shadow staring at him. “And what more experience is there than working with Mogar?”

“Great, another fucking babysitter.”


	7. Man In the Rubber Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James liked Los Santos, it was a big town. Bigger than the small backwater Georgian shithole he came from anyway. And that was enough for him. Place like this, a man could disappear. Place like this, a man could be made. Place like this could bury Ryan, overthrow the Mad King, and bring a second chance for a man just trying to survive. A man like James.

Five years since they met the Vagabond

_ “Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.” James shook his head as the deep southern bass resounded through his skull. It had been years since he last sat in that musty old heap on the outskirts of his hometown. “For you see my children, we have need of little else when we throw ourselves into the loving embrace of our Father. In His all encompassing arms we find ourselves fulfilled and-” _ He sighed heavily and dug his earphones out of his pocket. If echoes of long dead ghosts wouldn't leave him alone he may as well try to drown them out.

Los Santos was a big town. Bigger than the small backwater Georgian shithole he came from anyway. And that was enough for him. Place like this, a man could disappear. Place like this, a man could be made. He is James.   
That’s what drove him out here at least, back before Ryan had to go. Before the Mad King had come only to be overthrown. A time he tried not to think about as he hurried through dark alleyways and dimly lit side streets. James didn't dwell on the shadows of the past. Most people would try and avoid the shadows of the city of the saints, especially on a weekend, but what could he say? Old habits died hard, even for James. And that’s when he saw it, just along the edge of the circle of light given off by a flickering street lamp, a wooden crate that still had LSPD in chipped paint along the side and a ratty spread of cloth over sharp bumps and ridges that really couldn’t be anything else but the latest shipment of weapons that never made it to the precinct. He froze, leaning on the crate is a young man, probably some up-and-comer in whatever gang had become the city’s arms dealers this time around.

_ “And repent oh ye sinners, repent! For there is no redemption awaiting those who have forsaken God Almighty. Those hellspawn out in the dark. Murderin’,” there's shouts of approval, “Drinkin” splattered amens and hallelujas. “Whorin’!” oh the man is biting at the bit now, and old lady McHugh is doing her bit with the ‘tongues’ and Uncle Varn is bowin his head, both hands lifted palm up to the sky. Kara Heath’s mother is glaring at her with that just-tasted-a-sour-lemon look and a couple other kids have that look of slow realization spreading across their faces. He sighed, just more additions to the damn preacher’s ever-growing mindless horde. _

“Hey,” The ‘man’ before him is not much more than a boy. Boys shouldn’t be anywhere near a shady street corner this time of night. Though he really has no room to talk. “You here to deal or just sightseeing?” The kid is smiling at him, all smooth and easy. Like he knows just what soft, bleary-eyed James is doing this side of town. His fingers itched to rifle through the fresh new weapons, so many delicious possibilities just a few feet away. Hadn’t there been a minigun in the waylaid shipment?

But he is James. So he shoves his hands firmly in his pockets and the kid’s hand not laid across the crate goes to his waistband. “Nah kid, just passing through.” His voice is raspy from being overworked with too little water all day. But it still sounds passably not-quite-uppercrust east coast. He's James. The kid relaxes a bit, but his babysitter across the street still has his sights on him. “Take care of yourself, kid.” James nods and moves on, his hands sliding up from his pockets to zip up his jacket. “Streets are dangerous this time of night from what I hear.” he sees the kid's confused look at the deep southern drawl as he walks past, the soft click of his boot heels on the concrete fading as he ghosts across the rain slicked streets.

He was James, he had to remember that.

“Hey Jimmy,” he grits his teeth at the sound of the store manager’s voice cutting through the pleasant hum of technology about him. He looks up to see the kid leaning in the doorway.

“It's James.”

“Yeah, sure.” There's a sound like cracking plastic and snapping wires. “So, Jimmy, I need a favor.” he did not want to see the chaos left in his wake.

“I am not going over to old Miss Hendrickson’s,” he curved his shoulders even further over the bit of circuitry he was trying to piece back together. “She can deal with that faulty keyboard for all the times she groped my ass.” his manager chuckled.

“Nah man, I was just wondering if you'd be willing to cover the front tonight.” his hands stilled.

“A manager covers the front of the store, the magic fingers stay in this room.” There's the slight sparking of a proper connection being fixed. “So ask Janice or something.”

“She's outta town… and I really need you to do this for me Jimmy,” he looks up at the kid from under loose bangs, his eyes glaring at him over the ridge of his glasses. “James, James… No Jimmy, right.” he grunts and turns back to his work.

“So why do you need someone to cover for you so desperately?” he chuckles to himself, “Got a date or somethin?” a heavy silence. He slowly raises his head and turns to look at the usually snarky, over-imposing 17 year old with bright silver braces and thick horn rimmed glasses that he still squinted behind. Now he just looked like an insecure computer junkie… like a normal fucking kid with one shot at getting a normal highschool experience… “Ugh,” he lets his head fall into one palm and holds the other out to the kid, “Give me the damn keys and get the hell outta here.”

“Oh my god, thank you!” the kid is practically beaming. “Seriously James, I owe you one.”

He sighs and puts aside his tools, “You owe me like five, kid.” now he looks a little scared, James rolls his eyes. “Before you go out I gotta ask; do you know the basics of a first date?”

“There's an actual list?” James holds back a groan.

“Alright, just try to remember these things; one: you pick up the tab, two: open doors for the girl, three: make sure she knows she looks nice without sounding like you're trying to get in her pants...or up her skirt, four: if you don't already have a plan have suggestions but let her pick, five: bring her flowers or some shit to start the night, and six:” his voice got lower and he let a little of his Georgian lilt bleed through, “Be a fucking gentleman.”

“R-Right.”

He leans back and smiles warmly at the kid, “Remember that and you'll do fine.”

“O-okay,” the kid gulps. “Thanks…”

It's two hours into the shift James so graciously took on and he's already bored beyond belief. No one the least bit interesting has come in and definitely no one who actually came in for anything the store had to offer. He's about to pop in the back to bring out something to keep his hands busy when the bell above the door rings.

“Welcome to the Geekdom, here for all your geeky techno needs, how can I help you tech up and geek out?” his not-quite-uppercrust east coast snark makes the catchphrase sound even worse.

It’s a group of men, led by… a kid… what has his life come to when he can’t seem to get away from the presence of zit-faced teenagers? The kid is wearing what looks like a silk polo shirt with the collar popped up and heavy gold chains nestled in the deep V from having all the buttons undone and finely pressed khaki slacks, tailored to a slim-fit and not a crease out of place. There's gold bangles on his slim wrists, gold chain on his belt loop and small gold hoops crusting his ears.

_ “And the Lord Almighty doth say unto us ‘Do not let your adorning be external- the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear-’ So my brothers and sisters, let us not give in to the temptations of the times. Let the legions of satan cover their women in silver and gold and silks bought with blood money. Let their men fill their coffers with the coin of poor, honest folk like you and me. For we await a greater reward in heaven above!” there’s shouts of affirmation and Ryan has to roll his eyes. Sure, don’t be materialistic, tell that to the 50% of church funds lining their pastor’s pockets. _

The golden boy stops just past the rug in front of the door and pulls his gilded sunglasses further down his beak of a nose. “You're not Carl.”

Oh gods. The kid is dressed like a b-flic gang banger douche, looking like his bleached blond ass is too young to get into a pg-13 movie by himself, is English… and one of his musclebound goons is sporting a tag… His manager owed him something closer to ten, now.

James takes a deep breath and tries to give the kid a pleasant smile. “Carl had something come up. Anything I can help you with?”   
Bright green eyes look up and down what can be seen of him above the counter and the kid smirks. “Sure, I'm here for some delicate equipment. Special order circuitry Carl said he'd have waiting for me.”

“Circuitry huh?” James leans back from the counter and makes sure to keep his hands loose at his sides as he moves to the back. “Think I've got what you're looking for.” He comes back out with some half-fused wires and circuit board in a box. “I wasn’t able to get all of it done, he didn’t exactly let me know it was a priority job.” the kid just raises one eyebrow that barely shows above his ridiculous sunglasses that he hasn’t taken off despite the late hour and the fact that he was indoors.

“He ‘ad you working on this?”

“Well, yeah, I do most of this type of shit.” None of the goons make a move when he rounds the counter with the box. “So, you want to look through, make sure it’s what you’re lookin’ for?” the kid makes a big show of rummaging through the box but James notes that he handles the wires with care and even manages to organize some of the bits he had tossed in from the workbench where he had been working on them earlier.

He looks up at James and gives him a cheeky grin. “Looks like it’s all in order, I can finish the rest at my office.” At a snap of his fingers one of the musclebound goons steps forward and roughly takes the box out of James’ hands. “Do give my regards to Carl when he gets his sorry ass back to work.” He turns to leave.

“Now you hold up just a minute.” The goons freeze like they’re used to listening to orders… and letting their boss deal with confrontations. “You forgot to pay for that shit, buddy.”

“I didn’t forget anything, the job wasn’t finished, so no payment necessary.” The kid has the audacity to wink at him. “Good evening.” With a self-satisfied smirk he moves towards the door, leaving his back exposed. James sweeps one leg forward, making the kid’s knees buckle. One goon moves towards him, reaching for his gun and another one makes a break for the door. James goes for the one holding the box first. He can see another figure by an expensive car parked in front of the store through the window and they seem to be making a phone call as they head towards the door.

_ He hears the piercing screams of a woman begging for mercy echoing in his head. “It is almost too much for this old soul to bear my children,” he chokes back a hollow sob. Ryan’s fists clench and his nails dig into the still fresh crescents. “We are gathered here today to pay our respects to my dear departed wife. No woman shown more brightly with the inherent light of our Lord and Savior, sharing His love with the world and bringing His joy unto us all. She truly was our light in this dark place.” _

“What the fuck, Free!” storming in the kid is the epitome of an angry Jersey fucker.

“But Micoo-”

“Can it.” James hisses out as he dodges a bullet from the curly-haired newcomer. “You fucking kids-” he grabs the goon with the box by the back of the shirt and whirls them both around so the other guy is an effective tech shield (come on, everyone knew mooks like his hostage were a dime a dozen, that tech was worth… a whole lot). “And your fucking attitudes-” Curly moves in close and James catches a flash of silver. There’s a sharp pain in his side and it dimly registers that the kid slashed deep enough for blood soak his shirt. “Thinkin’ you can just waltz into a place-” He grabs the box and tosses it towards the blond still on the floor and pushes the goon to stab-happy over there. “And fuck up a guy’s day?”

“Wot?” The blond kid makes some sort of avian mating call as he slides along the floor to catch the box.

“Who’s the asshole here, you little southern fuck?!” James freezes. Ryan hesitates.

_ “And murder, now murder…” The man shakes his head as a hush falls over the congregation. “That is one of the foulest of sins my brethren. My brethren, we are called to love our neighbor as our own flesh-and-blood.” Ryan sees the scattering of fragmented moonlight on the darkened walls. “And for the repercussions of such a disgusting act to be felt so close to our own church-” _

“I would rethink your strategy kid.” Ryan has a pile of hired muscle at his feet and a gun in his hand pointed at a boy that can't be more than sixteen. He's got to admit the kid's got guts when his freckled nose scrunches up and he bares his teeth in an almost animalistic snarl.

Curly glances at Goldie, some sort of silent agreement passing between them. The kid closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, some of the tension in his shoulders melting away as he releases it. “Okay, let's all calm down for a minute.” Ryan glares at him as the kid raises his hands and lets the gun hang loose in his fingers. There's something in those wide whiskey brown eyes that just don't sit right with him.

_ The maniacal laughter of something deep and dark echoed through the flimsy walls and the phone dropped out of his hands. She was gone. She was cold and her skin covered in something that stuck to his palms and made his skin itch. The cops took her away from him, put her in a plastic bag that wouldn't let her breath, she needed to breath. The doctors told him there was no hope… and no evidence to be found on the body. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat closed around the words and his tongue rest heavy in his mouth. _

“Look pal, I know that prick-”

“Oi!”

“That prick can be… a real prick,” a chuckle. Ryan hasn't lowered the gun. “But we kinda have a curfew and I'd really not like to get my car taken away ‘cause Mr. Bright Idea decided to be an idiot.”

“Now you ‘old up you knob.” there's a yelp as bits of tile fly up, the shot making the kid throw himself backwards.

_ He's being shuffled about the room, his dark suit itching at his skin and his shiny dress shoes pinching his toes. There's an ornate box up ahead. He goes towards it but the current pulls him back into the whirlpool of black velvet, soft words, black cotton, light pats on his shoulders, splatters of grey, and too-tight hugs. He's drowning in this sea of shadows and whispers. _

“I don't know who you assholes think you are, but I don't rightly know if I'll be able to let y'all leave here tonight.” the words feel so much smoother and unhurried in his southern drawl and he has to hold off a sigh from how good it feels to not be forcing his voice to unnatural pitches. “Now I tried being good. Kept my head down and even made amends for some of the wrongs I've done.” Ryan tilts his head to the side, keeping his sights focused while letting his hair fall out of his face.

“Micoo-” the British one is on his knees hugging the box. Big green eyes are flickering between the man and the boy. Though Ryan kinda has to question that statement when he sees the paler boy's jaw clench.

_ “Now remember son, the day you find the heart to wield your sword and cut down your enemies, that is the day you are a man.” _

_ “Boys, time for dinner.” _

_ “Comin sweetpea.” he watches as his father saunters up the porch steps and presses a light kiss to his mother's nose. It isn't until years later that he understands why she flinches. _

“Look, we pissed you off and you're a creepy motherfucker. I get it, we'll back off. Just let my brother go.”

He's shaking. Too many options. Too much tension in one room. He can hear their heartbeats, begging for rest at last. These boys were bad men, they had proven that, but he was worse. There's a gunshot, a scream.

Ryan doesn't feel anything as he uses the woman's nightgown to paint the words onto the dingy walls. He doesn't respond when the man whimpers from the soaked leather chair. There's only the slightest sense of satisfaction, of release, as he puts the blade to the man's throat. Just nicking the jugular enough to let the blood slowly dribble into a bucket, he needed more paint for the finishing touches.

“They'll know,” he steps back to admire his work. “After all this time, they'll know what happened.” he moves the bucket once he's done and smirks at the last bit of life flickering back at him. “And the two of you can have each other while she's finally restin’ up ‘mongst the angels, just like you always said.” he pours what's left across the two entwined on the chair and makes sure to drape the woman around him. Everyone would know exactly what she had done to deserve sharing his fate. He places the file on the desk in front of them and dips his fingers into the sticky mess on his front. There, now they'll have a nice little message when they find them.

He winces as the blond one makes some sort of dying bird noise again and drops the gun. The clattering of metal and plastic as it skids across the floor pounds in his head. “No, I'm on a break. It's my fucking break!” his voice cracks, it can't seem to settle as he reins himself in.

“B-break?” Curly’s voice is low.

James looks at the bodies of the men Goldie had come in with. “My murder break.” both boys tense up. “I liked being James. I liked my shitty apartment and Sunday walks in the park.” He's starting to panic, hands winding themselves in his hair and Curly makes his way to Goldie’s side. “No, no, NO!” He lashes out.

Despite his size and leaner frame Curly is able to use his own bodyweight to push Ryan back. “Now what the fuck do you dickheads think you are doing?” The voice is low and sounds kind of tired but there's something in it that has everyone in the room freezing.

One of the goons moves to stand up, one hand pressed to his side. The man in the doorway doesn’t seem to be much older than Ryan himself, but something about the slump in his shoulders and the dulled light in his hooded eyes makes him seem almost ancient. Seemingly unfocused blue eyes haven’t moved from the boys.

“M-Mr. Ramsey, we-” There’s a shot and the british one yelps as Curly frowns. Ryan notices the word Gent written across the knuckles of the heavily tattooed hand holding the gun.

Curly’s fists are clenched at his side. “It wasn’t his fault.” The man raises an eyebrow at the kid. “We fucked this up, it wasn’t his fault.”

Ramsey -shit, they were Ramsey’s brats!- sighs and walks over to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You're still learning.” he loosely tangles his fingers into the mass of auburn curls for a moment with a soft smile on his face and moves past him to the one on the ground. “You alright Gavvers?” the kid nods his head, refusing to look up at the man.

“I messed up.”

The man sighs and kneels down to be at the blond’s level. “Well so did they.” He looks pointedly at a totally-not-panicking-inside James.

Goldie shakes his head. “I wasn't gonna pay.” his voice is small and more of a gasp but the man stiffens up.

“Buddy, you commissioned the parts, right?” bleached hair flops about almost comically when he gives one stiff nod.

“And the parts were made?” lazy blue eyes glance down at the dented box.

“They weren't finished.”

“Irrelevant. You're smart enough to finish basic shit like this.” the kid flinches.

“I’m sorry…” a sniffle and the kid turns his head away.

“It's not my store.”

Big watery green eyes are suddenly on James and Ryan glares. “I'm sorry for being a right smegpot.”

“I think you've about learned your lesson kid.” Ryan almost winced at his own words. That was way more threatening than he intended it to be.

Ramsey seemed to agree as he stands. Ryan sees something pass over his eyes. He shivered. “You seem familiar, have I robbed you before?”

“I think I'd remember having the pleasure of your acquaintance.” Ramsey smiles.

“Is that so your majesty?” Ryan stiffens and the kids look confused from where they had huddled behind Ramsey.

“I am not royalty.”

“Not anymore. What happened to the crown?” Ryan's hand rests on the thick band of his watch. The skin beneath it almost feels like it's burning. “It really was a nice touch.”

“I believe you're mistaken.”

Ramsey looks irritated now. “Everyone thought you were dead. Gave a few of us a chance, but still…” he looks Ryan dead in the eye and he finds he can't tear away from the lazy gaze. “City hasn't been the same since the Mad King was dethroned.”

“I gave that title up long ago. Ryan is dead. I am James.” his hands are clenched at his sides his chin is touching his chest and his jaw and eyes are clenched shut so hard it's painful.

“I get it man,” Ramsey’s unexpectedly soft voice cuts through to him almost too easily. “I really do. You found something other than the rush to keep you going, and I can respect that.” Ryan is staring at him, wide eyed and scared. To Ramsey he looks like a hurt animal in a cage. Not like his bear cub, never like his little Mogar, but a wounded creature too used to licking his wounds in some shadowed cage by himself. It hurts more than it should. Ryan sees the not quite pity in his eyes and the soft look he gives the boys… especially the angry one.

“I am not some stray you can whisk off to the top of your criminal empire with the promise of freedom, mayhem and cash.” Ramsey squints at him a little. “I have a life, as James.” his voice cracks a little. “James has a shitty apartment just big enough for two and a dog. James takes long walks in the park with his girlfriend on Sunday afternoons and has been able to cut down on his sparring matches at the gym. James has a life. Ryan… Ryan was death.”

“The Mad King was magnificent.”

“He was chaos.”

“He ruled the city.”

“He is better off buried.”

“Maybe you're right.”

“He- I am?”

Ramsey sticks his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I mean. Mad King would have killed my boys straight off, not given them a second thought.” Ryan spares a glance at the kids. “But you're not the Mad King anymore Ryan.” Ramsey is slowly moving towards him, circling. “So who are you?” the soft words tickle his temple and the shell of his ear but he doesn't move. The spell is broken by the one they call Gav.

“I think you broke him.”

“Way to spoil the fucking mood Gav!”

“B-but Micool…”

“Both of you dicks shut up.” Ramsey snaps and the two look at him with cowed expressions, though their eyes have that mischievous gleam to them. He turns back to Ryan. “Think about it,” a card is being pressed into his hand. “Whenever you're ready.” And it's gone, that almost suffocating presence. Ryan tears at his restraints. James feels exposed. He looks down at the card in his hand. As he puts the number in his phone and looks up the address it hits him. It's quiet.

It's two weeks before the grinning skull is at his door. Two weeks of a new name already starting to circulate. A mercenary without a conscious, he didn't talk much and less than two weeks on the market and he's already known for only working jobs for high rollers. He was ruthless and cruel and it made Ramsey laugh when an unknown number sent him a simple message.

“So,” he smiles softly at the dark figure in his doorway. “You gonna come in?” black leather gloves fidget with the hem of a heavy leather jacket and Ramsey rolls his eyes with an amused huff. He leaves the door wide open behind him as he moves into the apartment. He smiles to himself when he hears the door shut behind him and the soft thumps of heavy boots following.

Ryan follows Geoff into an open kitchen. There's the fucking kids yelling at each other and a pair of women, the smaller blonde wrapped up in the tall redhead. “There he is.” The blonde one says as she wriggles her way out of the embrace and sweeps past Ramsey to stand before him. He does not make an undignified squeak when she snatches his mask off his head and grabs his shoulders, pulling herself up on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Welcome to the family Vagabond.”

“Do I not get a say in who the fuck gets adopted into my fucking gang?” the redhead laughs and makes her way over to Ramsey.

“Don't worry babe, you'll get used to it.”


	8. The Tugglife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We take a look at the Tugglife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry took so long to get this chapter up, finals and the holidays are kicking my ass and my final project in english is not going well. I'll try to keep updating on time, but I can make no definite promises.

Ryan swerves through traffic in time to the tune running through his head. Cars honked at him and Gavin was making those dying bird noises again but hells, he was in a good mood. A maniacal grin spread across his face and he chuckled as he took a particularly sharp turn.

“Why do I ever let you drive?!” Gavin squawks once the bike has come to a full stop and Ryan has kicked the stand out. Ryan lets it idle a moment longer than necessary, chuckling at Gavin’s vice-like grip despite the danger being over.

“Because you crash more often than not.” a soft melody floats between them, Gavin rolls his eyes and slips off the bike as Ryan whips out his phone. If they didn't have somewhere to be this would almost be comical. “Hello dear,” god, Gavin shuddered, he was never going to get over seeing that dopey grin underneath all that face paint. “Yeah, I was pulled on a late night deal. No, nothing too dangerous, might have to swing by the base for a change of clothes though.” his big stupid smile goes soft and almost shy. “Are ya sure darlin’? I mean, I thought-.” This just got a tad interesting. “Yeah, no of cour- Yes but- Now sugar- No I am not hidin’- Fine! Fine, I'll come straight home once the deal is done. Uh huh.” he glances at Gavin and turns away, curling into himself over the phone. “I love you too.”

Gavin is totally not laughing as Ryan straightens up and tucks the phone into an inner pocket. “That your bird then?”

“She's not a bird. She's my girlfriend.” Gavin scoffs as he ‘straightens out’ his perfectly mussed hair and slightly windblown appearance. “I'm actually,” his hand ghosts towards the front of his jacket, just over his heart. But he pulls it back, his hand clenching as he worries at his bottom lip.

Gavin stops his preening to give the gent a suspicious glare. “Actually wot?”

“Nothing,” and the mask is slipping over not quite blond hair and smudged red bleeding into black and white lines. “Let's get this taken care of.”

It doesn't take long. The former contact is just a small man who got too big a head on his shoulders. Ryan helped him let out some of that hot air. “Now that was…” Gavin’s voice is shakey. “That was somethin’.”

“Oh come on Free.” Ryan scoffs as he wipes at the flecks of blood across the shoulders of his jacket. “It wasn’t that bad.”

The lad glares at the grinning skull and blue eyes gleam behind black rubber. “Maybe for a twat like you, yeah.” he sniffs and straightens his bony shoulders, “But some of us are more refined than that.” Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Free.” but Gavin can hear the smile in his voice and bumps his shoulder into the gent.

“Come on you nob, I've got to report to Geoff and the girls and you've got a bird waitin on ya.”

“I told you, she's my girlfriend, not a bird.”

Gavin chuckles, “Oh come on.” he grabs the sleeve of Ryan's jacket and pulls him faster towards the bike. “Hurry up, it's freezing out here.” Ryan is full out laughing at the 180 he just witnessed. Yeah, out of the lads Ray was usually the most tolerable, but Gavin had to be his favorite. He certainly was the most amusing

__________________________________________________________

“I don't fucking care what Gavin said, I will not fucking be babied!” he sighed as he pulled up in front of the building the rest of the gang resided in. They could keep the highest penthouse in the city, he enjoyed his small, cozy apartment very well thank you. But he didn't really understand the point of soundproofing the entire floor, installing the latest security measures, and sweeping the building for bugs daily if Michael was going to go Mogar over the phone on the sidewalk in front of the building. “What do you mean I'm overreacting? I think I'm reacting very reasonably you pezzo del cazzo di merda. Giuro, sto per spingere un riccio fino al culo che ti sputi paracche per una settimana che tu- hey!” he's cut off by a girl with blazing red hair that put Jack's to shame.

“Oh just shut the fuck up already.” Ryan was a little worried for the girl, now standing in front of Michael, his phone in her hand. “Yeah boss, everything is fine, your kid is just being a little bitch.” she looks at Michael's pouting figure where he's leaning against his car, kicking at the dirt. “No, I don't think he'll be heading back up tonight. Don't worry, I've got a place to hide him.” she glances at Ryan and Gavin as they approach and she flashes them a teeth-baring grin. “You and the girls just enjoy the peace and quiet, I've got this. But hey,” she chuckles, “If it makes you feel better, you can give me a raise. Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too asshat.”

Gavin is practically vibrating as he skips up to his still sulking brother. “Ello boi,” Michael grunts at him. “And lovely Lindsay luv.” He practically purrs and sashays to the slight but imposing figure. Michael sighs and holds an arm out to Ryan.

“How's it goin man?”

He shrugs and clasps the kids forearm just below the elbow for a second before they both pull back and bump the back of their wrists together. “Would be better if I wasn't worrying about losing an asset,” he nodded to Gavin and the girl.

“You know the babysitter.” It sounds more like a resigned statement than a question. Ryan nods, he had recognized her at The Rings.

Lindsay Tuggey. The girl liked to go by Tuggey (or Tugglife to her friends) and didn't like talking about her past. She was young and kinda on the smaller size for her particular line of work but hells was she tough. He had gone a round in the ring with her once, a simple bet amongst the grunts: who could take the Vagabond? When she had walked onto the mat -all wide green eyes, wavy red hair, big innocent smile and a pastel pink t-shirt showcasing some fat internet cat with a horn, rainbow mane and tail cut into a looste tank top- he hadn't thought she was serious. Then she turned to a guy ringside who handed her light teal fingerless boxing gloves and slipped a purple mouthpiece over her teeth. It hadn't been a quick fight. It hadn't been a clean fight. It was long and bloody and by the gods if she wasn't smiling like she was having the time of her life as his maniacal laughter filled the warehouse. He walked away with bruised ribs that kept him off Mogar duty for a week, a black eye, and heavy bandages on his knuckles that made handling his favorite minigun difficult. He had been surprised to hear she walked out of the warehouse with little to no help. Couple days later Geoff tells him he was going to have someone in to help him while the lads pulled a string of heists. She walks in, split lip stretched in a smile and bruised knuckles a stark contrast to the white coffee cups she has in her hands. Placing one cup on the desk in front of him she pulls up a chair. “So, I guess we're team same desk.”

Michael can hear the smile in his voice.“Yeah, I know her.” He watches her as she fends off a persistent Brit and still manages to make professional sounding calls to different members of the B-Team and some other grunts whose names he had never bothered to memorize. “She keeps you on your toes, that's for sure.” He chuckles and Michael smirks.

“Got that right,” he runs a bandaged hand through matted curls. “I think she's actually planning on being a fucking babysitter, dude.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow though he knows Michael can't see it behind the mask. “I thought that was her job."

“Yeah, and there's been a shitton of others before her who just hung around. Geoff said babysit and I think she's like, taking it seriously.” Ryan chuckled at the kid's pout.

“Wow, and you just-”

“Hey, I didn't ‘ **just** ’ anything alright?” Michael is in his face now, glaring at him through the eyeslots. “Ramsey said she's my tail so she's my tail. I'm not going against him.”

“So why did we have to go through the yelling then?” Ryan turns to look at the girl walking towards them with an amused Brit a little ways behind her. “Or did someone just want to throw a tantrum?”

"I did not throw a fucking tantrum."

"Yes you fucking did."

Ryan nods his head towards her. “Tugglife.”

She smiles and rolls her eyes as she goes in for a hug. “Oh come on you dork.” he laughs and wraps his arms around her smaller frame. “How you been man? You haven't given me your new number. What the fuck is up with that?”

“I'm sorry,” he sighs as he pulls away. “But with moving my girlfriend in and going over precautions and the extra heists Ramsey has been throwing at us I think I've gone through like five burners and-” he's interrupted by laughter.

“Oh just fuck me!” Michael is yelling obscenities again and Gavin is laughing and making those choking bird noises. “You two cannot be friends, the universe just fucking hates me!” he knows it's for show, this hissy fit of his. The kid always had to make life difficult for others, something about a 'rep to protect'.

Lindsay sighs and pulls away from Ryan. She giggles at his dramatic pout as he makes grabby hands at her. “Come on, I've got a job to do and you have a report to give. If ya need to call me,” she holds up the hand holding Michael's phone. “You got my number.”

__________________________________________________________

Michael does not feel the least bit surprised when Lindsay parks the car in front of the college district. He doesn't voice his disbelief or call fucking bullshit that Lindsay had a place there. She ignored him of course. He rants for the sake of noise and she hums and makes vague noises back with a smile on her face as they haul his daybag and some paperwork Ramsey sent for her to handle. He would distract her get a look at that later.

She juggles the files in her arms to open the door to one of the nicer housing units. “I'm home.” a little orange tabby comes running up to tangle itself in her legs.

“Well I’d say it's about time.” the lighter voice is followed by an all too familiar face. “I was wondering if you'd even show up.” the guy is smiling at Lindsay and his eyes soften when he sees the piles of paperwork stacked precariously in her arms. “Brought work home tonight, huh? Need help with that little reaper?”

Tuggey is staring at Detective Luna as Michael reaches into his bag for his pistol. He clicks the safety off and aims just past her head. Luna's attention shifts to him and he pulls out his own gun pointing it back at her charge. “Oh fuck.” She whirls around and steps between the two men. “Miles, stand down.” the detective lowers his gun so he's no longer aiming at Michael's head, but the squishier, more expendable, bits. “He's a friend Jones. He's a really good, really old, friend.”

“What’s going on here, Linds?”

“You better start explaining, Tuggey.”

“What are you thinking bringing him here? You couldn't wait till next week?”

“Shut up copper, or I'll make you.”

Luna raises his gun again. “Try it Jones, just give me a reason!”

“Would the both of you just fucking shut up?!” the cat hisses and scampers out of the room. “Miles,” she turns to the cop with a glare and he lowers his pistol. “Michael,” he doesn't lower his gun. “I know how this must look, but I need both you guys to trust me here, alright?”


	9. CRWBY

He trusted Lindsay. Trusted her with every fibre of his being. They had been through too much together for him not to, really. He trusted her to have his back and to make the right choices the way you trust your heart to beat and your lungs to breath, it was just something that you did. So when she said she needed him to trust her he lowered his gun. The safety was still off and he was ready to shoot that bastard’s curly head off at a moment’s notice, but it was down and he wasn’t going to raise it till Jones made a wrong move. Or if Lindsay finally came to her senses and let him just shoot the interloper.

“What were you thinking Linds? It’s Rose Week, Sam and Snow Angel are going to be here soon.”

“No Ren?” She shakes her head, “Wait, no, not doing that right now.”

Michael sights down the barrel of his pistol at Miles, “Who’s he talkin’ about Tuggey? If this is a setup, I swear-”

“Why would I bring you to  **my** house for a fucking set-up?”

“-I will fucking kill every last fucking one of you.”

“Wow, real charmer you got yourself there Reaper.”

“Okay, code names are really not inspiring confidence here, assholes. You want me to trust you Tuggey? Drop em.”

She sighs, “Okay.”

“Lindsay Tuggey if you tell him a single thing so help me I will-”

“You’ll what?” Jones snaps and Miles can feel something shift. “Shoot me?” he barks out a laugh and it's like the crackling pop of a forest fire. “If you were gonna do that you would ‘ave already. Nah, somethin else is botherin ya and I'm just a convenient excuse for the level-headed detective to get mad,” he smirked then opened his hands and spread them out to either side, gun dangling from his trigger finger. “So tell me copper, what's got your panties all in a twist?”

Lindsay steps directly into their line of sight and Michael's face twists into a displeased pout. “We are not going to go there right now, Jones.”

“Why not, Reaper?” he's surprised at his own voice cutting in. “Or are you telling me this joker still doesn't have a clue?” she's quiet for a beat too long and he lets out a resigned sigh. “Fine,” he clicks on the safety and holsters his gun. Michael’s smirk is back in place but he makes a show of doing the same. Though his gun goes into the waistband of his jeans under his heavy leather jacket. “Come on in Jones, might as well join us.”

“And who is this ‘us’ you guys keep talkin’ about?” there's an audible click of a lock turning.

The door slams open. “Heyo! Dragon's packin fireballs!” the cheering blonde freezes in the doorway with a couple other faces Michael recognizes bumping into her as they keep moving. “Oooooooo….kay?” blue eyes flit between the tired looking detective, cocky gangster and tense babysitter. “So is this a bad time?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He was tired, or maybe that was just a side effect of the nasty hole in his side. If he pressed on it he could feel the bullet wiggle around his ribs. Maybe. He could just have been hallucinating. From shock, blood loss, or the excessive amount of bleach still in his hair now dribbling down his face, the rain not quite strong enough to wash it out.

“You look like shit there, dude.” he blinked his eyes against the rain and fought against the churning in his stomach at raising his head. “Looks like someone made ya, narc.” he sees a bleary figure made up of reds and blacks land in front of him from the rusted fire escape where three more colorful shapes wait.

He grits his teeth as a wet bout of coughs wrack through him. “Don't worry, they don't pay me enough to snitch on runaways.” she stiffens up and holds her bag closer to her body. “Hey, get me outta the rain, and I can promise you,” he makes a point of looking towards the others even if he couldn't make his eyes focus, “And your pals, a hideout till you got a plan past a ticket at the nearest bus station.”

She scoffs and the yellow shape higher up laughs, “Well at least we know you're willing to deal.”

His sluggish wheels try to kickstart at that. “What do you-” then there's a knife at his throat and he's surrounded by yellow purple black and white. “Okay… not sure you noticed, but I'm bleeding out, here…” the knife eases up and shining steel flicks between pale fingers as hooded eyes stare at him unblinking. He tries -and fails- to not stare at the giant bow right on top of her head.

Red shrugs, “Can't be too sure, even with narcs who aren't field ready yet.”

“How-how did you know?”

The white blur with blooming shots of red along the edges steps into his line of sight, “We have been watching you officer. And we have a proposition for you.”

“Did you guys-?”

“Hey, we don't take out innocents, pal. The folks running that safe house were good people.” Yellow is glaring at him with a fire in her eyes that makes him want to run and hide. “But we are interested in the people who did hit that place. And you're gonna help us.”

“I'm gonna what now?” his vision is getting worse the longer he just stands there but he forces his eyes to stay open as the pale ghost wrapped in shadows and blood steps closer.

“Madame Salem is powerful,” his glazed eyes widen at the name this young girl speaks so freely. “But the mightier the opponent, the harder they fall. It will be long. It will be hard. And it will probably end in you running from everything that you ever held dear.” she leans in close and her puffs of breath ghosting across his cheeks smell of sugar as roses envelope him. “It **will**  will break you, make you a criminal and turn **everything**  you know on its head. So tell me, Officer Luna, are you with us?”

He just stares at the four girls before him, all so young to be a part of this world. Who were they that they were willing to expose themselves and their plan to take down one of the largest crime families in the city, to one of the LSPD? Shaking his head he lets out a weary chuckle. “Help you clean out an organization we haven't been able to get within ten feet of?” he pushes himself up, the hand not staunching the flow of blood moving from his knee to about mid-thigh. “I guess there's worse reasons to turn dir-” he's cut off by his stomach’s fated betrayal. Falling to his knees he's vaguely aware of worried voices above him and light but sure hands supporting him and pushing back his bleached hair.

“Oh my god, is he okay?” Yellow stage whispers.

“He'll be fine.” the voice is soft and soothing right by his ear. “Just need to get him inside. Out of this rain. Like sane fucking people."

“Okay then, we'll take him back to- Oh, Yang, gross, you have puke on your shoe!”

Yellow - or Yang as Red had supplied - jumps back and he can see a light blob jumping about in the closest puddles. “Gross, gross, gross, gross…” he chuckles as his vision fades on the two girls splashing about trying to get as far from his mess as possible. Yeah, he could think of worse reasons to turn dirty.


	10. What's the Story?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait, Barb…” the look he shot at her had Lindsay shifting uncomfortably. “This is RWBY?” She shrugs with a wide grin and he devolves into muttered ramblings. “B-but- then what is he doing here?!”  
> “Mogar, meet Jaune Arc.”  
> “Wasn’t Arc blonde?”  
> Miles sighs heavily, “You have one accident with bleach and suddenly it’s a defining trait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took forever and I'm really sorry about the wait but I should be getting back on track soon if not by the next installment. Until then, enjoy and leave kudos and/or comments.

“Barbara? What are you doing here?”

Big blue eyes take in the gun and tense stances. She lets out a heavy sigh that sounds more like a frustrated groan and shoves past Michael down the hall. “Fine, talk first booze later.” she grabs Lindsay’s arm and drags her along, smacking Miles in the back of the head as she goes. “Nice going, vomit boy.”

“Hey, that was one time!” she laughs as his shouts ring through the house mixed with other chatter and the sound of laughter.

“Barbara-”

She sighs as she leans back against the couch, one hand scratching the cat purring away by Lindsay’s head, the other cradling a bottle of alcohol. Should she really wait to open this? Michael is watching them all curl up and get comfortable together on the large couch and doesn't seem fazed that Neath has Sam tucked into his side, a silent rein on the otherwise uncontrollable bundle of energy. But the glare he's shooting at Lindsay and Miles as the detective lays down with his head in the redhead’s lap, is starting to annoy her.

“Barbara, just what the hell is this?” at least the gun is away. “First Tuggey seems to be having regular meetings with  **a cop** but now you're in on it too? Does Burns know? Just what the hell are you thinking? Luna is the definition of a clean cop! How the fucking hell is this a good idea?!” she rolls her head to look at Lindsay who is avoiding looking her way.

“Welp… it all started with a bad idea, lots of booze, and some crazy bitch who saved lil ole me from some thugs in a back alley with -I shit you not- two scythes.” he rolls his eyes with a scoff. “Dude, seriously, she was a spinning little tornado of, of… I don't know. But it was awesome and I owed her.”

“So what? The bitch has something on all you?”

Barbara groans and pops the top off the bottle with a pointed glare in his direction. “I wouldn't call Ruby a bitch.”

He sits down in the armchair a few feet away and leans forward, hands clasped between where his elbows rest on his knees. “Ruby? As in Ruby Rose?”

“Hey, the boss is famous!”

“Not now Sam.”

“But Neath, he's going to know anyway. It helps if he's at least heard of her right?”

“Wait, Barb…” the look he shot at her had Lindsay shifting uncomfortably. “ **This** is RWBY?” She shrugs with a wide grin and he devolves into muttered ramblings. “B-but- then what is he doing here?!”

“Mogar, meet Jaune Arc.”

“Wasn’t Arc blonde?”

Miles sighs heavily, “You have one accident with bleach and suddenly it’s a defining trait.”

“How did I not know about this?”

“Maybe you were too busy with your own agenda to care about anyone else.” Lindsay is leaning forward in her seat, glaring at the man. Miles is sitting up with one hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her back as Neath and Sam retreat further into each other. “We all know about how the mighty Mogar brought the Pollioni family low. Heard you made Pollioni himself grovel at your feet. Must of made you feel like a big man huh, having a whole gang to take care of your grudge for you.”

His face is cold and impassive but a low rumbling vibrates through the room. “The bastard deserved everything he got.”

“What did he do, huh? Look at you funny?”

“Well what about this Ruby? She had a bunch of kids dying for her in the streets, how is she any better?”

Miles shoots up and takes a step towards Michael. “Ruby saved us. She gave us all a purpose, something to fight for. Hope that we can make a difference in this fucking shithole!” Michael is not looking impressed. “And she was right there with us every step of the way! She fought with us, worked with us, held kids in her arms as they bled out from a bullet meant for her. And avenged them before she lost anyone else. She never asked for our lives, but we gave them anyway.”

“So,” Michael leans forward and sneers at them. “Where is she now huh? She disappeared didn’t she, after the Salem was taken out?” The five on the couch stiffen and he takes it as his point sinking in. “At least I didn’t abandon those who helped me after I did what I needed to do. Pollioni hurt someone I care-” He stops himself and it looks like it takes some effort to keep going. “Cared. Someone I cared about, and I wasn’t able to get to her in time.”

“The Pits,” Miles breaths out and Michael nods. “Word round the precinct was that’s where you got your start but I wasn’t buying it…”

“Barb didn’t tell you fuckers?”

She rolls her eyes at him and takes a long drink from the bottle. “That was your grudge to handle, not mine.”

He gives her a look that’s almost soft, “Thanks Barb.”

“Eh.”

“Sssoooooooo, we gonna be sharin’ any of that today Goldilocks?”

Neath sighs, “We have discussed this Sam. You are not allowed alcohol during Rose Week.”

“What’s Rose Week?”

“That’s just what we call it when we’re all able to get away together. We hang out, run a few small heists, do some intel hunting, light stuff to help us relax.” Michael turns a raised eyebrow on Luna.

“Hey man, I’m off duty. Is it my fault that a nameless group of criminals happened to get their hands on a list of the easiest marks in the city on my vacation time?”

“I’m not sure if I should be impressed or worried at your lack of shits about your job right now copper.”

“It’s  **detective** , I have an office and get to wear something other than the jumpsuit.”

“Just a copper with a fancier badge.”

“That isn’t even-”

“Anyway,” Lindsay lets herself fall back against Barbara and Miles leans into her. “So you took Pollioni out to get revenge, and what, she was dead?”

“She wasn’t there, and she wasn’t sold.” He runs a hand through his hair, “In the Pits, that’s as good as a death certificate.”

She hums noncommittally and sighs. “Well guys we need to discuss sleeping arrangements before anything else cause I have to put his ass up for a few nights and he’s kinda my bosses’ son so…” There’s a collective sigh and Sam giggles as she nuzzles into Neath’s neck.

“We’re definitely going to need our own room this time Linds.”

Lindsay smirks, “Yeah I can see that. Finally sack up there, Oum?”

Sam guffaws and pulls back from her fiance, “Like I was going to wait for that! I had to finally decide to do somethin cause he was never going to.”

“So that’s why there’s no ring.” Miles smiles and Michael lets himself fall to the background. “I was wonderin’ if it was time I traded in my intel broker.”

Barbara snorts as she takes a drink, “You know you even try and you’re signing your own death warrant.” He sighs and gets a dopey grin on his face.

“And Miss Dunkelman I would not have it any other way.”

“There!” She shoots up in her seat, pointing at the now shocked detective, “Do you see that Jones? That dopey stupid lovesickness obviously holding our dear detective in a chokehold? That is what I am determined you will understand someday if it kills me.”

The room is silent for a beat before Michael groans and falls back heavily. “I cannot believe that you are doing this right the fuck now.”

“Doing what? What is being done here? Because I’m kinda lost and I don’t like it.”

“Oh my gosh, is this what Free was talking about? I thought you weren’t supposed to know.”

There’s a hush as Barbara’s chatter cuts off Miles stops grumbling and Michael’s stream of curses dries up. “What you talkin about Tuggey?”

She looks confused before her eyes widen in realization. “Oooooooooohhhhhhhhh...” She looks at Barbara, “I wasn’t supposed to say anything but I’m guessing you know?” The blonde nods with a slight chuckle. “Great.” The redhead pops up and Miles makes a noise of protest as he's jostled from where he had finally started getting comfortable again. “So I’m going to go change out of my work clothes and when I get back I am going to assume this has all been sorted and we can move on with our lives.”

“Wait a minute, what?”

Barbara whined, “Lindsay no!”

“Nope, this is officially your fault Xiao Long, you handle it.”

“You still fucked up, what’s a little more?”

“Nope.”

“Is that all you ever say?”

“Nope,” Miles giggles, “The lot of you are in charge of keeping Jones alive while I'm gone.”

“Wait, how long you gonna take for a fucking change of clothes?” Michael growls when the woman keeps walking and refuses to answer. “Is she always such a cunt?”

“Weeelll-” Sam starts with a giant grin, “I wouldn't say all of the time.” the rest chuckled at this and Michael found himself joining in.

“So,” he leans back and lets the tension ease out of his shoulders. “What's the story, Dunkelman?”


	11. None of His Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't that big a deal. So they wanted to get Michael a girlfriend. None of his business.  
> So they wanted a girl. None. Of. His. Business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of Ray-centric, there is more of him to come I promise, just been having trouble with balancing writing for here, college, responsibilities, and trying to get my first original work published... it's been hectic and I'm trying here guys.  
> If you have comments, questions, concerns or want to beta feel free to hit me up

It wasn't that big a deal. So they wanted to get Michael a girlfriend. None of his business.

_ “I don't get it, girls are gross.” he tilts his head in a silent question and the curly haired boy rolls his eyes. “ _ **_They are too soft and smell like flowers that make me squeeze._ ** _ ” _

_ “ _ **_Sneeze._ ** _ ” _

_ “What?” _

_ “You said squeeze the first time.” his companion laughs. _

_ “It's not like Miss Viola is going to scold us if we don't pass a test on this.” _

_ Ray smirks, “But she will scold us if she hears you caught your big brother kissing a girl you hadn't seen before and didn't tell anyone. _

_ Clear brown eyes widen behind thick rimmed glasses. “What's the next set of words?” _

It wasn’t that big a deal. So they wanted to find some girl for Michael to play house with. None of his business.

_ “Are you okay Michel?” _

_ “ _ **_Don't call me that_ ** _.” _

_ “ _ **_Angelo, are you okay brother_ ** _?” _

_ His breath is ragged and he's clutching his ribs like they're hurt. “Just the new training my grandfather wanted me to start.” _

_ Ray hated Michelangelo’s grandfather, dangerous as it was, and he had never even met the guy. “Why does he push you so hard?” _

_ “ _ **_Someday_ ** _ ,” Michelangelo turns cloudy brown eyes that won't open all the way on him and he can feel the air catching in his throat and his heart seizing in his chest. “ _ **_Ray, someday brother will be the next head of the family. And when he is, then I will be made a capo and maybe even consigliere_ ** _.” _

_ “B-but Angelo-” _

_ “I will be a part of the family, more than simply a made man. I will be more than the brat of a cafone son and a woman the Don won't acknowledge. I will be something Ray, I will be  _ someone _.” _

_ He sighs as the other boy’s breath evens out and the grip on his sides loosens with sleep. “ _ **_You already are… to me…_ ** _ ” _

It wasn’t that big a deal. So they wanted someone who could tame Mogar and was willing to put up with him long-term. None of his business.

_ He wasn’t scared. Roars echoed down the hall and he clutched at the cross his mother had insisted he wear when visiting his friend. He wasn't scared. _

_ “ _ **_Aaauuuugh! Stop! Stop it!_ ** _ ” he shudders at the screams coming from down the hall and lets himself slide to the floor. _

_ “Michelangelo, stop this at once.” _

_ “ _ **_Let me go!!_ ** _ ” _

_ “You are being ridiculous.” _

_ “ _ **_I said stop it! Let me go, please!_ ** _ ” _

_ “This is for your own good.” _

_ “Get the Narvaez boy. The two have gotten oddly close, maybe that will calm him.” _

_ “ _ **_Stay away from him you fuckers! Leave him alone!_ ** _ ” He’s not scared. But his limbs lock up and his stomach drops as a door opens and the click of heels echoes in the halls. _

_ “Come on out little one, we just need your help.” The edges of the cross dig into his soft palms and he focuses on the dull pain. “Please child,” the woman sounds more tired than anything. “We just need him to see you.” She’s standing a few feet away from him, he can hear the rustle of clothe as she fidgets in place. _

_ He steps out of the sliver of shadow that had been hiding him and a vice like grip clamps on his arm. “I'm not going to run.” the woman scoffs. “I'm just scared…” _

_ “Don't worry child, we'll make sure he can't hurt you.” he digs his heels in and tears his arm out of her grip. _

_ “Angelo would never hurt me.” But as she drags him through the heavy door and leaves him in the padded room with the writhing creature bound to the plush cot he knows that even he can't stop his friend no matter how hard he may try. _

It wasn’t that big a deal. So they wanted a girl who would be his other half. His keeper and his partner, a best friend and lover and all that shit. Someone to  be his equal.

_ “Faster Ray.” His eyes are panicked as he tries to make it through. It’s cramped and dark and he’s sure he can feel bits of broken glass just pricking him through the thick sleeves of his sweatshirt. When the bell chimes a hatch opens above his head and small hands too rough for their size grab his shirt and pull him out. “You did great Ray.” _

_ “But not good enough,” the voice is cold and dry and makes everything in Ray quail like he should be very very afraid. “You need someone who is… on your level, Michel, not some half-breed welp.” _

_ “I am not a dog.” Expensive looking shoes appear in front of where his shaky arms are barely holding him up with Angelo’s help. He takes a gulp of air and looks straight up at a man with soft laugh lines and a deep wrinkled scowl sporting a thick head of jet black hair with a spray of silver along the temples. Michelangelo Jabari Vencienta was an imposing man. Built like an ox and just as strong at nearly 60 years old it was enough to make any grown man shake in his boots, let alone a small child lying prone at his feet. _

_ His look is appraising and Ray just knows that no matter what, he will be found lacking whatever it is this man is looking for. “You are useful to keep young Michel entertained and out of trouble. You sit when told, fetch toys and such, even play dead if you think it will make him give you a smile,” the man's scowl twists into a tight smirk, “If that does not  sound like a well-trained mutt then I do not know what you would call it.” _

_ Angelo bares his teeth at his grandfather and the man's face morphs into a bright smile with a twinkle of amusement in warm brown eyes. “Leave him alone, Nonno.” _

_ The man laughs and it shakes his whole frame. “And what are you going to do about it piccolo lupo solitario?” the boy shakes with fury or well concealed fear Ray can't tell but he doesn't like how Vencienta is looking at his grandson. The man finally pulls back, straightening his shoulders with an audible crack and that smirk falling back into place. “Play with your toy Michelangelo, tomorrow I have some new friends for you to meet.” the door closes and what staff had been allowed to stay for the spectacle begin to clean up the mess of an obstacle course. _

_ “I won't let him hurt you.” he feels strong arms wrapped around him and what usually comforted him makes his heart sink. He was weak, and Angelo would pay for it. _

So they wanted someone strong. Because Gavin came back bloody and bruised from his nights with Mogar. Because Los Santos still hadn't healed from the last time Mogar and the Vagabond went out for a night on the town. Because, despite what he wanted to think, LilJ was just a kid. Because Geoff and his girls didn't deserve the heartbreak of watching their son destroying himself the nights they were the only ones available to stay with him, holed up in the gym or keeping an eye on him at the Rings. And because Ray… Ray could never tell him no.

So they wanted a girl. None. Of. His. Business.


	12. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, Ray. I don’t give a flyin fuck. You are not gonna move, there should be a car at your location in five minutes and you are goin to listen to the asshole with the big ears.” There’s a muffled shout about a ‘Caleb’ and Ray figures that’s going to be the dude with the big ears.  
> “I don't need you to bail me out here bro. I’m handling myself just fine.”  
> “You're workin as a lone gun for hire toting a kid around one of the most dangerous cities in the world. Sure, you totally got this.”  
> J's breaths in his ear are shallow and shaky and he can already hear the scramble of people heading out on Angelo's end. “I want a chopper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it feels a little rushed or doesn't seem to flow right, didn't want to stretch it out to too many chapters and only had one week to get it out... but i hope you enjoy it!!  
> Comments, questions, kudos -all that good stuff- feeds my muses and keeps this story going! Also short a Beta... so if anyone is interested just hmu...?

He lined the scope up as the lights came on in the window he was watching. “Brownman.” A figure moved just into his line of sight.

“Hush, M.T.” The wind shifted to the west and he adjusted the rifle.

“But Brownma-”

“Not right now M.T.”

“Brownman I really think that-”

“What Monstertruck?!” the sniper snapped into the crackling comm piece. “What is so important that you have to talk to me  **_right now_ ** ?” The mark notices something and comes to the window facing him. Thank god for the backdrop of a busy skyline in the sunset.

A beat then J is letting out a shuddering breath and Ray is tensing up behind his scope, almost losing focus on the mark. “I think we're being followed.” The man turns away, satisfied that nothing was there.

“Mierde,” he takes the shot. It's sloppy and off-center but it does the job.

“Brownman?” the kid's voice is wavering and Ray is sure that those months on his own are the only reason he’s not pissing his pants. His Rimmy Tim was tough. “What do I do?” but he's still a kid. He's still just a scared runaway in a little over his head, so he's looking to someone older ( i.e. Ray) to tell him what to do and just how to survive in this world he hadn't been afraid of enough until now. He can handle a gun and is a whole year older after all.

He huffs into the mic attached to the collar of his jacket, “Don't sweat it Monster, Brownman has got this.” He tries to tell himself that his hands don't shake as he takes apart his rifle and shoves the pieces into the repurposed guitar case.

“My hero,” he lets out a strained laugh, at least the kid was keeping his head enough to throw around his usual snark. “Okay. So then, uh… I'll lead them around the block, away from the job.”

“I'll pop them in the alleyway behind the jewellery store.” He curses the crunch of gravel under his feet as he makes his way across the roof. His hands wrap around the worn handle of his pistol and he fights the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his sweatshirt.

“Now that would be a good plan, if we hadn't already hacked your comm system.” J squeaks and the voice chuckles. “Oh I ‘ave to admit, you blokes are bloody brilliant. And such dear little lovelies too.” Whoever this fuck is he's British.

“Wait a minute, wait, hold up.” surprisingly they listen and he holds the silence for a beat. “Did he just call us short?”

“Wot?”

“Brownman?”

He has to buy time to think up a plan to get them out of there, “Bastardo grosseiro. And I am not short, I just haven't hit my growth spurt yet dude.”

The brit’s laugh is more a succession of birdlike coos and squawks. “I hack into your comm systems and  **that's** what you focus on? Really? I am not sure how I should feel about tha-” There’s a muffled crash on the other end of the comm and what sounds like someone yelling, and for a second Ray is scared that J had got got. “Shove off ya mong! Geoffrey said that I needed the practice anyway.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care Gavin, you need to fuckin stop jus goin off an doin this sorta shit on your own.” He freezes at the angry yelling with the heavy Jersey accent. “You know what can happen if you go playin around with shit like this by yourself. You’re gonna getcha self killed ya fucker.”

“But boi-”

“I don’t wanna hear it. Go and annoy Ryan if ya want to run around doing somethin dangerous.” ‘Gavin’ says something that Ray can’t catch and then ‘boi’ is talking to them again. His voice comes through more clearly like he’s the one wearing the headpiece now. “Can ya hear me there?”

“Yeeaaahhhh…”

“Alright kid, now you’re gonna tell me just what you and your friend were doin that got my boi huntin your asses down.”

“ **_Angelo?_ ** ” There’s a hissed intake of breath and he can hear J’s whimper on the other end. “ **_That’s you isn’t it brother? I never thought I would see you again after Jersey_ ** .” His voice is halting, he hadn’t spoken in Liki, or any of the harder languages that he had taught himself, in years.

His accent is heavier and there’s almost a growl to it, “ **_Who are you and what do you want?_ ** ” It takes him a second to recognize Ongata.

“ **_I said that you could never be rid of me didn't I? Like a fucking shitstain, dude._ ** ”

“Brownm-”

“Ray?” The voice is choked and there’s something desperate in it as something slams on the other end. “Oh my god, where are ya? I can get a car to ya before you can say fuck it.” There’s more banging and crashing and they can hear a muffled voice calling for Gavin and some others to get a location. “I swear, if you move a fuckin muscle I will have all of Los Santos on your asses.”

“Angelo, I-I don’t know.”

“No, Ray. I don’t give a flyin fuck. You are not gonna move, there should be a car at your location in five minutes and you are goin to listen to the asshole with the big ears.” There’s a muffled shout about a ‘Caleb’ and Ray figures that’s going to be the dude with the big ears.

“I don't need you to bail me out here bro. I’m handling myself just fine.”

“You're workin as a lone gun for hire toting a kid around one of the most dangerous cities in the world. Sure, you totally got this.”

J's breaths in his ear are shallow and shaky and he can already hear the scramble of people heading out on Angelo's end. “I want a chopper.”

“What the fuck?”

“I want to be picked up in a chopper.” he tries to keep his voice light as he scopes out the rooftop he and J had designated their rendezvous point. “Or is that too much for you to handle?”

He laughs, “You are fucking insane.”

“Yeah well, YOLO am I right?” there's a breathy laugh and J's heavy breathing as he climbs up the fire-escape to where Ray is waiting for him. “But seriously Angelo, I can't risk it man. I've got to think about more than myself here.”

He doesn't even miss a beat, “Bring the kid with you.”

“Angelo-”

“I don't want to hear it. You bring that kid with you and in a couple of days the three of us will grab your shit from wherever you're holed up.” There's a series of car horns and the screech of tires as J curls into Ray's side, the shorter boy's broad frame making it a little awkward.

“I'm guessing that's our ride,” he sighs and J takes a deep breath, puffing his chest out and trying to give Ray a confident smirk.

“Remember kids, I don't care how much of a loser he seems to be. The asshole with the big fucking ears is one of the best medics in Los Santos.” Ray hesitates at the new voice. It's obviously a man though the voice cracking mixed with the slight twang makes him think country hick teenager. “So you turds listen to what he tells you alright?”

“They're not idiots dad.”

“ **Your father is dead Angelo, who the fuck is that?** ”

“ **Geoff is a good man and a better father than I could have ever hoped for. He's family now, brother.** ”

“ **I don't like this.** ”

“ **You don't have to like it.** ” His voice is hard and clipped and Ray thinks he may have toed a line that was neve there when they were children. “ **You just have to come home. Family takes care of each other and Geoff knows that you were my first family.** ” Ray's throat doesn't tighten and he doesn't get a little weepy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “ **Just please… come home…** ”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I'm thinking a summer wedding,” Griffon sighs as she and Jack sip hot cups of coffee at the kitchen island. “It'll be perfect, warm and bright and she can wear any sort of dress she wants-”

“Hold up there Griff,” Jack laughs. “We don't even know if he'll end up marrying the girl.”

Griffon takes a long drag of caffeine water and places the cup on the counter with a little too much force. “You mark my words, when we find him a girl he is going to marry her and give me the most fucking adorable grandbabies Los Santos has ever seen.”

He grabs his DS from the coffee table and rolls out of the confines of his beanbag. “Yo.” the soft chatter trails off, “Maybe you want to make sure there isn’t anyone else around before you go on and start talkin about state secrets?”

“Ray?” Griffon frowns as he stands up in full view of the open kitchen and waves him over, “Come here for a minute sweetie.”

“Why?”

“Just come here.” he sighs heavily and weaves around the assortment of scattered pillows, blankets and fast-food containers from a gaming all-nighter by some of the B-team and the Gents. Jack starts frowning as he gets closer and she shoots Griffon a troubled look. “Hey there hon, how have you been?”

He knew what this was. He knew what he looked like and how that must look to the two of them. His eyes itched, his skin felt a little clammy and his tongue felt heavy in his dry mouth. He was a little hungover and still a little high and was that ketchup on the sleeve of his jacket or blood? Eh, it was from Ryan’s closet anyway. But they were still looking at him with worried frowns filled with mild disapproval and he really did not need this right now.

“Eh, you always gotta be careful about new dealers am I right? Especially in this city.”

“Ray,” Jack sighs as she slides off the stool she was perched on. “What's going on bud?” one hand rests heavy on his shoulder and the other lays cool against his cheek and forehead in what he's sure she means as a comforting gesture. But it's too much right now. Her cool touch sends shivers all through him, her soft voice pounds in his head, and the  hand on his shoulder makes something in him scream  _ run run  _ **_run_ ** . It isn't really anything new, this need to get away from worried glances and prying questions, all of the lights and the sounds that just make everything worse.

Griffon is watching him now too, a soft look on her face. A look usually reserved for Michael and that thought makes his heart clench painfully. “Ray, is it-?” she takes a deep breath, like the very question takes effort to form. “Is this because of Michael?” It's soft and gentle and he knows that she means well. He knows that the women in front of him aren't demanding answers or trying warn him off of pursuing anything. He knows. He knows and it hurts.

“Nah,”  _ Yes. _ “Just been blazing a little too hard,”  _ I've been trying to forget _ . He can tell they don't buy the forced laughter or easy way he tries to hold himself. His pitch is too high and his muscles are tensed to run. He looks Jack in the eye and smiles softly, “I'll cut back a bit,”  _ Lies _ “I'm fine, I promise.” They know that he's not telling them something. But they know they won't get any more than that. Doesn't keep them from trying every time.

“Ray-” he slips out from under the hands that had shifted to the telltale positions of an incoming hug.

“I gotta go Jack, marks to hit, dickmunch dealers to shake down. You know how it goes.” he's out the front door before she can say anything. Before she can unwittingly abuse his conditioning to make him stay right where he is or Griffon can ease him back the way she does Angelo. “His name is Michael. Angelo is dead. His name is fucking Michael.” it comes slowly and he's able to find a dark corner that doesn't smell too badly of rot and piss in a cluttered alleyway to sit his ass down before he fell over. Shaky hands reach into his pocket and pull out a small baggie with three joints left and one spliff. He's dimly aware of the quiet mantra whispering past his lips as he digs around his numerous pockets and miniature bugbags for a lighter.

The one he finds is metal and rests heavy in his hand and makes the quiet mantra come even faster. Shakily he flicks the cap open and manages to lite it. A bright flare of orange lights up the small space and he tries not to focus on the roses and skulls etched into the metal with the stylized wolf head. He tries to not focus on the points where the metal is smoothed from years of him rubbing his fingers over it in nervous habit between hits, the way he is now. He tries to focus on the slight sting of the smoke hitting the back of his throat as it travels down to his lungs and the slightest bit of tension melts out of him. Another drag and another wave of ease hits him, and another after another until he is a softly sighing boneless mass sitting in a dark corner of a dead-end alley that reeks of piss and too many other questionable smells to dwell on. He doesn’t think about the world he was born into and the hell it has put him through. Doesn’t think about the bright pink pistol in his pocket or the assortment of knives and grenades he’s started to make sure he keeps handy because despite what Los Santos has brought him it was better known for ripping things away from you. He doesn’t think about his new family waiting for him in the place that has become home or the old family who probably wrote him off as dead years ago. Doesn’t think about whiskey brown eyes and chestnut hair or freckles that you have to kinda squint to really see that all make up the man named Michael Jones.

For a few hours he floats through memories of days probably best forgotten and a name long dead on his lips. He doesn't feel the cold slowly creeping up his arms from his fingertips or the numbness in his chest as his breaths get heavier. His joint falls out of his hand into a puddle of questionable liquid but he's too far gone to care. He blinks and dimly registers warped voices and rough hands holding him in soft grips.

“Ray!  **Ray!** Ray can you hear me?!” Why won't they all just leave him alone? “ **Ray, I need you to answer me brother. Come on, stop playing around!** ” who was talking to him now? Why were they talking in different languages? Only Angelo mixed up the different languages like that.

A new voice, “We have to call som-”

“ **Angelo?** ” There’s a wet laugh and calloused fingers rubbing on his cheeks. “ **Could you turn down the volume?** ”

“ **Sure Ray, okay brother.** ”

He can feel his face twisting as he tries to open his eyes. “ **You hate Italian.** ”

“ **I hate the idea of you dying more.** ” Dying? Who was dying? A shiver rakes through his body and he can feel the grip on him tighten. “ **Stay with me you bastard.** ”

He laughs and he can just open his eyes to the bright lights of some sort of medical room. But Angelo is still there, he can hear his muffled screams and threats from just outside the room and other voices trying to talk him down. There are shouts of his name and threats to the doctors if they fuck up, especially someone named Caleb… but Angelo was there. He was okay so long as Angelo was safe, and he was safe so long as he was with Angelo

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He couldn't understand why he was always the one who found them. He had found Gavin when he collapsed and he had found Geoff when the idiot got shot. He hunted down the fuckers who tried to take J when he and Ray first joined them -turns out the kid was almost on par with Vagabond on getting himself out of situations. He had found Griffon and Jack whenever they ran into a little too much heat… he took care of his own… he would always take care of his own.

A large hand rests on his shoulder and Michael breaths in the scent of spiced rum and ink. Geoff had been out on business for at least two days. “It comes with the business, kid.”

“Don't. Don't you fucking dare.”

“We’ve got nothing to go on Michael.”

“Find something.”

“You know that’s not how it works.” he sighs, “He knew the risks of not running a check-”

He shoots up, the stupidly uncomfortable plastic chair clattering to the ground. He’s vaguely aware of a gentle push against his chest as he growls at his father. “Don’t you dare put this on him!”

“I’m just saying it how it is Michael! He had the resources, he had a dealer! It was his fucking choice to go somewhere else without making a check!”

The smell of strawberries has him taking a step back as the pressure on his chest intensifies. “I think you need to back yourself up a step Mr. Ramsey.”

“Are you trying to give me an order there Tuggey?” His voice is dark and cold and Michael can taste the bite of ink and whiskey on his tongue.

“No sir,” yes she is. “Just trying to do my job.” so back the fuck up.

“Your job is to do what I sa-”

The sickly sweet smell of strawberries fills the room with an undertone of warm chocolate chip cookies. “My job is to take care of your son. To keep him out of trouble, from causing chaos and wanton destruction. My job is to make sure he's okay.” steady hands rest on his shoulders and push. He glares at her and is not at all offput by the calm in her eyes. It's actually kind of nice and relaxing, looking at her eyes, hard and cold with that simmering heat he can't help but recognize. He holds his snarl and growls at her. She rolls those cool green eyes. “Oh please, you won't hurt me.” she pushes him down and he stares at her.

Geoff clears his throat, “Well… I see that I'm unwanted here.”

“Dad-” his father turns to look at him and Tuggey pointedly angles her body away from the two. “Thanks. For the help. I don't know if I'd have found him in time without you… so thanks.”

He smiles and the softness doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Of course son, family looks after each other.” the door closes behind him with a soft click and he can feel her attention in him as the doctors and nurses make their rounds. When she finally drags him away, back to the safehouse that isn't a gang officiated safehouse, and they walk into a silent house he holds his breath for the lecture. He had run off without her. Risked his life and safety and her job to find his brother. But hells was it worth it, and gods as his witnesses he'd do it again.

The closing door has a ring of finality and she leans against it with a sigh. “So,” she pulls her bright red hair out of it's ponytail and levels a wary eye on him. “How well do you know the name Michelangelo Vencienta?”


	13. Nuair a thig an Reaper a 'gairm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Reaper summons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how good, bad, meh it is. Comments and kudos fuel faster/better/more inspired updates. Even critics are welcome.

“How the fuck do you know that name?” She raises an eyebrow, “Who are you?”

“I’m Lindsay Tuggey,” He’s in her face and a hand is clawing towards her throat as she sidesteps, grabbing the offending appendage and using it to push him up against the door she had been leaning on. It barely rattles, doesn’t even creak. “I take it you know the man?”

“Ti ha mandato dopo di me? Come faceva a sapere che oro fottutamente vivo?”

“I don't speak Italian, Jones.”

“Non tornero indietro. Hanno seppellito Michelangelo, lo hanno lasciato sepolto.”

Something flashes across her face. “I'm gonna go out on a limb here, and guess that my question and whatever you're ranting about goes deeper than just a made man on the run.” he growls and breaks out of her hold. She twirls away and he’s hit with splashes of red whipping across his cheek and the cloying sweetness of strawberries and cookies makes him sneeze. “Listen to me Jones, I need you to talk to me here.”

“So you can collect a bounty? Fuck that noise.”

“You think a bounty hunter would still be standing here talking to you? I’ve been your guard for the past two days, there have been plenty of chances to do something to you.” His scowl deepens. “Gods, you’re stubborn.”

“And how do you think I’ve survived this long?”

“This is about more than surviving. This is about justice.” He barks out a laugh and she rolls her eyes. “A little heavy on the cliché, I know. But it's the truth Jones. Vencienta is getting stronger, and the more his empire grows the harder he keeps looking for something. Any idea what that is?”

He freezes. “How do you know all this?”

“I did some digging when I joined the Fakes. Buried some stuff, tied up some loose ends. Geoff and the girls should really look into a damage control team ya know?”

“Get to the point Tuggey.”

“Right, yeah.” she sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “You did a good job wrecking Pollioni’s empire, Jones. But you didn't get all of his goons. There were still a few of his guys trying to keep the name alive deep in the underground.” His eyes harden and his lips curl in a snarl. “I took care of most of them, but some got loose. Not many, but enough to carry a name to the East Coast.”

“Mogar,” He sighs and she sees something flit across his face.

“Yeah, Mogar. The kid said to be too strong, too fast, too tough and reckless to be human. But just before they got out I heard them talkin’ about another name. Someone they were looking for or meeting, I don’t know. I just know that it was important.”

He’s shaking now and she almost feels bad for the guy. “What was the name, Tuggey?”

“Are you sure-”

“Just tell me the goddamned name!”

“Michelangelo Vencienta.” His hands clench into fists and his eyes squeeze shut. “At first I thought it was someone they needed to find, a bounty ya know? But then they talked about him looking for something so I’m thinking he’s at least one of the guys pulling the strings and-”

“I need you to tell me something Tuggey, and this is very important so I need you to think hard about it, cause if I’m right then this is a very big fucking problem.”

“What is it?”

“When you were snooping and looking around for whatever it was you were trying to accomplish, did you ever hear the name Jabari or Giacomo?”

“I heard both, usually when they were talking about Vencienta. Figured they were henchmen or something.”

He growls and she’s sure that’s not a good sign. “Fuck!” he slams a fist into the door and doesn’t even get any satisfaction at the dent he makes. “This can’t be fucking happening…”

There’s a scuffle down the hall and doors slamming and then everyone is pouring into the entryway. “What’s happening?!”

“Who we fighting?”

“Calm down guys-”

“Leg smash!!”

“Sam,  **NO** !”

Michael straightens up and a growl rips through the air, quieting the mass of sleepy violent paranoia. “Just- just shut the fuck up.”

“Michael,” Barbara's voice is soft, careful. “What's going on? What happened?”

He huffs out a humorless chuckle and turns to face the others with a tight smile and clenched fists. “Everything Babs. Everything I have fought and bled and killed to build and to bury and to fix- it's all falling apart!”

“Now look here Jones, you need to start from the beginning dude. We can't understand if you don't make any sense.”

“Like a copper would understand anything.”

“Hey, I am just as much a part of this world as you, asshat. Reaper follows your sorry ass crew and I follow Reaper.”

“You guys keep calling her Reaper but there wasn't a Reaper in RWBY’S crew!”

Lindsay sighs and rolls her eyes. “Figure it out, Jones.” she grabs his shoulder and hauls him along behind her as she shoves past the others to the sitting room. “But later. Right now we have shit to deal with.”

He doesn't like the way they shove him to the side and start talking about things they couldn't understand. Trading contacts and discussing rumors and information he was sure they should not have even able to find. Calls are made and a few more people start to fill up the small house. A girl who tackles Miles in a hug when she rolls through an open window, yelling his name. There's a short dirty-blonde kid he could swear he had seen handing unmarked folders to Geoff when the man was planning a heist. And a few more he's sure have fought alongside the likes of the Vagabond and swapped trade secrets with the Golden Boy and maybe even shared a cold one with Geoff.

“The fuck is going on round here Tuggey?” he had followed her into the kitchen where she’s pulling out sandwich meat and cookie mixes. “Where the fuck did you find all these fucking people?”

A laugh breaks the tense silence and there’s a hand on his shoulder, “We come when the Reaper summons, kid.” The voice is deep and has a gravelly Scottish lilt, like the man is purposefully making his voice lower to match the trimmed scruff, purposefully mussed hair and rumpled dress shirt with a loose blood red jacket just draped over his shoulders. He eyes the flash of silver as the man lowers a hand to his hip. “Nuair a tha an reapar a 'coimhead airson fàbhar, chan urrainn dhut a dhiùltadh. Air sgàth fearg, dh'fhaodadh gun tigeadh a lann timcheall ann an stailc glan. Agus anns an dorchadas, ann an solas soilleir na gealaich, bidh gruag ruadh an oidhche.” he takes a swig from a flask with a burning rose etched onto it.

“What are you, a fucking poet?”

“That’s enough uncle Qrow.”

“Hold the fuck up… you have Branwen in your pocket?”

“Well, in my family… technically.”

“I'm way too sober for this crap.”

“Be careful, you're starting to sound like Geoff there, kid.”

Michael stops five steps from the hallway. “What do you know about Ramsey?”

“Yeesh, ya weren't kiddin’ Linds. The boy's wound tighter than a bottle o’ hundred proof.”

“Well at least I don't smell like it.”

The man -fucking Qrow Branwen- chuckles, “Touche.” his eyes are a steely grey-blue and bloodshot, but sharp as he turns his lazy gaze on Michael. “Just be sure ya keep that lovely sense o’ humour when we get into the shit, yeah?”

“Don't you worry about me old-timer.” Qrow leans back with a laugh and Michael notes that though he reeks of alcohol it's more like a cloud hovering over him that lightly settles on his skin. He gives off the scent of gunpowder and ozone covered by what might as well be a whiskey perfume. Not a drop of booze in him.

“Och, Linds, I like this one. Can we keep him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough translation from Scots Gaelic to English=  
> When the reaper is looking for a favor, you can not deny her. For in anger, her blade might come around in quick clean strike. And in the dark, in the clear moonlight, red stains the night.


	14. Ray Something, I won't Give Up On You.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because he's bed-ridden doesn't mean he's out of the action.

He woke to muffled silence. How did that work? He had heard that term before but it didn't make any sense. Silence was silence, no sound. You can't muffle something that wasn't there. But then again, the cotton pushing behind his eyes and underneath his temples might have something to say about that. Maybe it made a little sense. So, muffled silence it was. He laughs and he can just open his eyes to the bright lights of some sort of medical room. But Angelo is still there, he can hear his muffled screams and roared threats in five different languages from just outside the room and other, smaller, voices trying to talk him down.

No more oddly muffled lack of sound.

There are shouts of his name and threats to the doctors if they fuck up, especially someone named Caleb… but Angelo was there. He was okay so long as Angelo was safe, and he was safe so long as he was with Angelo

He wasn’t sure when he closed his eyes but all of a sudden they were open again and he's taking in just off-white walls, eggshell ceiling, and sheets that are softer than belong in a hospital with just the faintest hint of blue. Hospital? Well, then again, how did he explain all of the not-quite-white? But that wasn't important. How did he get here?

He can't hear Angelo.

There's a beeping keeping pace with his quickening heartbeats and he swings his arm towards it. His hand meets something heavy and there's a sharp tugging on his chest and arm as it crashes to the ground. Heavy weights are pushing down on him and someone is yelling.

“Angelo! Angelo, aiuto! Per favore gli dei qui sopra lascia che sia vivo! Angelo!” his throat hurts. Something snakes it's way up his arms and the white is fading to grey with gentle black encroaching on the edges. He pulls harder, there's something wet on his face and he can't breath through his nose. “Falli smettere! ... Michelangelo ... falli ... falli smettere ... Michelangelo” and hovering above him are scared emerald eyes framed in a pretty scarlet all framed in encroaching black. His throat hurts. Oh, maybe it was from his yelling.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I told you this wouldn't go well for you, Griff.”

“And I thought I told you to fucking keep your mouth shut unless you want my dick in it.”

A snort, “Please, you and I both know that makes you gag.”

A chuckle, “Yeah.”

“So, what now?” It hangs in the air and Ray is going to guess that it's a really loaded question.

A sigh, “I don't fucking know, Church.” He decides to open his eyes. Why couldn't he see anything? “This is killing him and I don’t know how to fix this one.” he didn't like the dark, someone turn the fucking lights on.

“What contingency plans do you guys have in place?” Silence. “Griff, you got to work with me here, man. There are a lot of people who are always watching. Watching, listening, sticking their noses where they don't belong, they are going to figure this out and news will spread. The Fakes can be touched now.”

“They can fucking try.” Geoff’s voice is harder than Ray is used to hearing. Like the fucker is actually being serious or something.

“They will, you asshole! They will come at you with everything they got and nothing you do can stop it!”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“When is he gonna wake up again?”

“We don't know if he-”

“Then find out.”

A sigh, “That’s not the way it works Michael.” Michael? Angelo hated Michael.

“Jones,” Angelo didn’t like last names. “Calm down man, let them do their job.” was that a  _ girl _ ?

“I can't lose him,” his voice was so small and rough like he had spent the whole day yelling… or crying. Fucking gay. “You don’t understand, Tuggey. Just-” who was Tuggey? “Just not him too.” Too? But Angelo and Ray had been all the other had for years… Angelo was all Ray had… Douche was holding out on him.

“I get that, man. But yelling at the doctors won't make them go faster or work better. If anything, you'll probably give them a heart attack and then who would fix the you fuckers up when you decide to get yourselves hurt?” Heh, he liked her.

“Then what am I supposed to do, Tuggey? Just sit around twiddling my fingers until someone finds information on a nameless faceless dealer that Ray only met with once?” well… when he put it that way… “Fuck, I don't even know why he didn't just stick with going to Matt or Caleb for a fix. Who gave him the fucking bright idea to go dealing outside of the crew?!”

One two three four sharp clicks of a raised heel and the pacing slows, shifts course. “Stop.” there's a dull thump and a small cry of pain.

“What the fu-” The pacing stopped

“This is not going to help him Michael. Freaking out and threatening people, breaking shit. Usually I would be cheering on the destruction of private property but you need to chill man.”

He can hear Angelo's heavy breathing and how it slows. The drags of air become lighter and not as harsh and it's not sounding like he's going to hyperventilate. “Did you  **have** to hit me?”

“Not really I guess, but it seemed like the best option.”

“You're a fucking psychopath.”

There's an exaggerated sniffle, “Oh my god. I didn't think anyone would ever actually notice.”

“Oh shut up you bitch. You and I both know that's why Ryan likes you.” Why did Angelo get to meet Rye-bread’s secret girlfriend before Ray?

“Because I’m just wonderful and the funniest badass you will ever have the honour of knowing?”

“Because you’re like the fucking insane little sister he never got to fucking have, you retard.” Ryan has a sister? When did that happen?

“Yeah, he actually tried adopting me you know. But then again he did think I was like 16 and living on my own on the streets when we met.”

A pause. “Were you?”

“No.” Silence. There was a lot of pauses in conversations… he just didn’t have a gameboy to distract him anymore… “I was 18.”

“Motherfucker.”

“But like, my paperwork says I was 21.”

“That is relevant because…?”

“Because if people had known that I wasn’t, Geoff wouldn’t have let me anywhere near any of the post-heist parties.”

“You lied about your age to get into a fucking party?”

“Dude, the Fakes are famous for their parties.”

“We’re famous for being criminals.”

“Yeah. Right. That too.”

“How did you get hired anyway?” He can imagine Angelo’s eyes narrowing at her. “Like, Geoff has fucking standards or whatever and Griffon wouldn’t let anyone near Geoff and Jack without their complete life story unless she had a good fucking reason.”

“I.E you and the other Ramsey brats.”

Angelo ignores the jab. “So how did you get past all the redtape bullshit?”

She sighs, “I had a good fucking recommendation.”

“Bullshit.”

“Dude, I have got some connections okay? You know who is currently fucking up my house.”

“Then who recommended you?”

“Burns.”

There’s a heavy pause. What made a pause heavy? It has no actual fucking weight. If there’s a heavy pause why isn’t there a light one? And what the fuck was up with all that ‘pregnant pause’ bullshit?

Angelo laughs. “No fucking way.”

“I shit you not. Ask Ramsey.”

“Why would Burns fucking recommend you?”

“Okay, offensive much?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do we need to discuss this here?” She’s starting to sound defensive. Not scared, not yet, but defensive.

“And if I say yes? We’re in Fake territory in a Fake controlled and funded hospital I think we can trust there’s no fucking spies or like listening device bullshit.”

He did know those were the exact reasons that people would send spies here and plant bugs right?

“Fine.” Her voice is sharp and clipped but close to a whisper. “I was a fighter. Went by Firebird.”

“That is not reason to write a recommendation that would get someone hired by Griffon no questions asked.”

“That’s all you need to know.”

“Fuck it is.”

Did no one understand the concept of secret conversations?

“Did he-?”

“Ray!”

Oh, was he talking?

Angelo laughs, “Fucking dick. Of course you would start narrating out loud.” It was good to hear his laugh. He had missed that laugh. Made him feel safe and warm to know that Angelo was happy. Angelo sniffles. “Wow dude. Fucking gay much?” He laughs again.

“Dude,” And now that he’s making an effort he can feel the difference between what’s still in his head and what he’s letting everyone else hear. “Like, all the homo.” Angelo thinks he’s joking. He doesn’t need to be able to open his eyes to know that much. “Like, I know that I’m kinda bedridden here… but I mean… my mouth is obviously still working.”

Angelo chokes and the girl, Lindsay, snorts. “Jesus christ, man.” He laughs. “Don’t think Caleb would appreciate it if I ruined all his hard work fucking what brains you have left out.”

It takes almost everything he has to shrug. “But dude, what an epic way to go.” It goes like that for awhile. He’s fading in and out of the conversation but thankfully he doesn’t let any incriminating narration slip and whenever he seems to be slipping back under, Lindsay picks up the slack.

“Maybe we should let him rest.” Lindsay’s voice is soft and breathy as she tries to keep it to a whisper. “Caleb and his guys have got it from here, they’ll take good care of him.” There’s a soft hand on his own and he returns the light squeeze. “He’s a fighter Michael, just like you. He’ll be fine.”

“I’m nothing like him.” His voice isn’t accusing or angry like he had expected. Instead it’s resigned, like this is a fact that he has faced and finally come to accept. “I am nowhere near as strong as he is.” the fuck? “He fought so hard to not be his father, not be an attack dog or punching bag. He fought to hold onto what faith he could,” His mind drifts to a small silver cross that hung from its umpteenth chain about his neck. A final tie to a life long abandoned. “Even when I ran Tuggey, I knew that he would be okay. It made leaving him hurt less.” Maybe for him, but Ray still bore the scars of waking in the middle of the night to alarms and search parties and a simple note tucked into the pocket of his favorite jacket saying sorry and that he would come back someday.

“Why leave him at all?”

“It’s complicated.” Everything was complicated with him. They’re quiet, and it weighs down on him, crushes his chest and makes his heart ache.

“We need to head out Jones, they found something and Ray needs his rest.”

“Okay.” He hears the scrape of the chair legs on the ground and the pop of joints as Angelo stretches. “I’m going to stop by restroom real quick.”

“I’ll stay with him till you get back.” As soon as the door closes and the steps fade he can  _ feel _ her eyes on him. “So let’s get one thing straight,” the mattress dips as she sits and his fingers twitch at the sensation of warmth so close but that he can’t quite touch. “You are so very good for him. You make him happy and feel like he hasn’t completely fucked up, or if he makes a big enough mistake everything will crash and burn.” She sighs, “But you are so very bad for him... That boy would burn Los Santos to the ground if he thought it would save you. But you and I both know that it won’t. That what strength you have is wearing thin and it doesn’t help that the only thing keeping you strong doesn’t love you back.” He sucks in a sharp breath and she lets out what is almost a chuckle. “Yeah, you love him, and probably with good reason. And he loves you like… something more than a brother. He’ll always protect you and he will always love you, Ray. But you have to ask yourself, will that be enough? I need to know that you won’t hurt him. I need to know that I won’t have to save him from you.”

He opens his eyes, really opens them this time. Not just thinking he’s opening them and his body lying so it doesn’t have to actually work. He can see the off-white walls and too-bright lights, and if he looks to his left he can see her. She’s perched on the edge of his bed and looking at him like he’s a shard of glass. Weak and fragile, but will send you to the emergency room with a severed tendon if you handle it wrong. Deceptively dangerous. Which he figures he is in her eyes.

“I-”

“I don’t need an answer right now kid, I just need you to think on it.” and his breath catches in his throat as he  **really** looks at her. Her hair is loose over her shoulder and falling in scarlet waves that complement her bright green eyes and small almost-smile. Her lips aren’t quite plump, but pink and full and makes him wonder if she wears lip gloss or if that hue of  **pink** was natural. Her cheeks are rosy against pale skin but she’s not wearing makeup and on her the look isn’t girlish. She’s obviously strong if she was assigned to Angelo and he can tell just from the way her blazer strains at her shoulders. “You have till you’re on your feet again.” And there is worry in her voice and on her face and he knows that this isn’t all just an act. She cares for him. She cares for Michael. If he had to take a guess he would say she cared for all of them in her own way, and it made his chest ache.

“Okay.” she smiles big and bright and his heart breaks.

“Cool.” the footsteps are back and he settles back like he had never woken up and she glides off the bed, standing a few feet away like she had never been close enough to touch. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he doesn’t want to open his eyes and make Angelo stay to talk. “Anything while I was gone?”

“Not a peep.” Her voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t break or catch or show any signs that she’s lying through her teeth. “I’m sure he’ll be here tomorrow, Jones. You and I have shit to deal with.”

Angelo sighs, “Yeah… let’s take care of those fuckers.”

When he opens his eyes it’s to grey grey grey and muffled silence. It’s almost comforting in it’s familiar oddity. What’s not comforting is the beeping that he can barely hear, matching his heartbeat. There’s no voices just on the edge of his hearing and the too clean smell of hospital and impending death overpowers him. He sighs, well… alone was nothing new. The weight of old silver burns into his chest. His fingers twitch with the empty feeling of  **nothing** .

“Allora, signor Narvaez, lei è un uomo difficile da trovare. Complimenti.”

“Dude, the old-fashioned tradition-whores mafia schtick ain't as scary as when I was 12.”

He chuckles. “My apologies signore. But last we heard you were clinging very tightly to… old habits.” his index finger squeezes on a trigger that isn’t there and the weight on his chest burns. “We have a proposition Mr. Narvaez.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what the offer is, or who you will be working for.”

“I work for The Fakes. Have for years.”

“Ah, yes, Ramsey’s assassin, no?” he hears the creak of the cheap plastic chair as the man gets up. Ray can recognize him, a lower son of a consigliere. “So the rumours are true. The infamous Brownman belongs to Ramsey.”

“Brownman belongs to himself.”

“And what about Mogar? Does he not have some value to you anymore?”

“He’s decent enough to work with.” The man frowns. 

“Do not toy with me Mr. Narvaez. You and I both know who hides behind the chaos that is the Wolf of Los Santos. And it is time his mutt handler led him home.”

He laughs, “I’m flattered that you would think me worthy of such an assignment.”

“Your job is to bring him home Mr. Narvaez.”

“This is home.”

“Oh please,” he scoffs, “You believe that bullshit Mr. Narvaez? That these lunatics care for you, that they would avenge you if something were to happen? That they would die for you?”

Silence.

“No, they are as selfish as Michel all those years ago. And now that you have found him, was it worth it? Was it all you hoped, boy?”

“I found Angelo. He is safe and happy and that is all that matters.”

“A pretty sentiment, but one we both see through.” his smirk falls when he sees Ray’s lazy smile. “What is it?”

“You have about two minutes before the night guards get here and, if I’m not mistaken, they’re clogging up your only real escape route.”

The man growls in frustration. “Very well Mr. Narvaez. I shall send your love to the Don, and your regrets to your mother.”

“Wait!” But he’s already gone.

“Ray!” Caleb bursts in followed by a handful of guards. “What happened? You hit the emergency button, what happened?”

It’s hard to breath. “Angelo. I need to see Angelo.”

“Ray, who is-” He doesn’t have time for this.

He sees a nameless guard with a phone to his ear and he takes a deep breath. “Just tell Angelo to get his ass over here!”

“Ray!” Caleb is trying to stick a needle in his arm.

“It's all tits up! Get Angelo here now!”


	15. Jeremy's Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff did say he had a special job just for Lil J.

He knew he was full young to be a part of this world. Calloused fingers rubbed over worn leather wristbands and he fidgeted with his sterling silver rimmed sunglasses. The wristbands had been a gift from Michael when he joined the crew and Gavin had given him the sunglasses the day he beat Ray in an impromptu sniping contest. He was full young to be a part of this world, but damn did he make it work.

Two years ago walking the streets of Los Santos would have been a death wish for a snarky kid from Boston with too much bark and not enough bite. But now he could walk with his head held high, the weight of brass knuckles more comforting than the pistol tucked underneath his hoodie or the burner phone with five speed dial buttons that would connect him instantly to some of the most powerful people in Los Santos. Hells, eighteen years old and he had the power of the entire army of the Fakes at his beck and call.

Well, not completely at his beck and call… if he got himself into trouble they would rush in or if he wanted to cause some Geoff-sanctioned mischief they would be mostly at his disposal. Otherwise he was just Ramsey's youngest. Meant to be protected and kept away from the real stuff. He was lowest in their weird hierarchy really. Young and new and inexperienced.

He shakes himself out of his musings, he's supposed to be trailing Ryan today. Gavin had asked him to keep an eye on the oldest of the Ramsey boys. Though Ryan didn't really count as a Ramsey boy, having been brought in when he was twenty-something, but he was still a member of the family. He was the third brought into the fold and considering his age and the fact that he never took Geoff’s name, it all put him in a very odd place… Jeremy envied his standing in the crew. He was heavily involved with plenty of the crew business while still being little more than a shadow on the sidelines, letting Michael and Gavin hold the spotlight… and even then most disregarded Mogar’s chaos in favor of watching the Golden Boy talk his way through heated gangwars and coming out on top without a single scratch. He wanted that and more. A name to be feared and given a wide berth while holding the respect to lead and worming his way into the hearts of those who followed him. He would be- his personal phone, not the burner brick, shrieks at him and he fumbles pulling it out of one of his inner pockets.

“Hello?”

-“Hey LilJ, where you at bud?”

“If you honestly do not know where I am then I will be incredibly disappointed.”

-“Well I like to let you assholes think there’s  _ something _ you can hide from me.”

“What do you want Geoff?”

-“I said I had something planned specially for you didn’t I kid?”

He perks up. “Oh my god, I’ll-” He stops as Ryan starts moving again. He couldn’t let him just go. “I-I’m kinda doing something.”

-“I want you to understand this is more important than whatever it is any of the Lads put you up to. This is big J, like change the name of the game big.”

He takes a deep breath and bites his lip as Ryan starts to melt into the crowd. “Okay… I'll do it.”

Sitting in a too quiet office waiting room was not his idea of an important job. It was the exact opposite if you asked him, honestly. What good did he serve if he was out here and Geoff was off in a windowless room talking to some stuffy looking suits? He didn't like it.

A man’s laugh echoes as the door finally opens. He tries to rise with the same fluidity he had always seen with Ryan and nearly falls on his face. “Geoff- Can I call you Geoff? Geoff, I have a feeling that this whole endeavor will turn out beautifully for all parties involved.” The man’s smile is too wide and shiny and his skin has a slightly too-brown tan to it that paired with the slick sheen of his hair marks him as either a car salesman or a Vinewood schmuck. His eyes lock onto Jeremy and the kid tenses under the cold calculating gaze. “Is this the talent?” 

Geoff just smirks and motions for Jeremy to come over to them. He straightens his shoulders and moves forward with a rolling gait that he and Gavin had spent hours perfecting for jobs and the like. “What did I say Mitch, isn’t he adorable?” He scowls at the gent. “And the shit this kid comes up with. Phenomenal, that’s all I got to say. Simply phenomenal.”

“Well you don’t have to sell him to me,” the schmuck laughs again, “As far as I’m concerned the contract is as good as signed. You just have to convince a few board members and we’re golden.” Geoff frowns and looks about ready to protest when the guy holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, usually I find a talent, sign ‘em and let them know what’s what once they’re running. They like it that way. But due to the kid’s…  **family** situation… they’ll want to make sure certain measures are taken.”

“I understand that Mitch, I really do. I just wanna make sure this gets going before any other agencies get wind of your people signing on the next big thing.”

Mitch’s smile falters, “Now Geoff, let’s not be unreasonable here-”

“Town like Los Santos, I’d say a story like that should really start to circulate in about three days.”

“Three days? Now that’s not even enough time for the board to meet and you know-”

“Well we’ll just see then, won’t we?” he places an arm on Jeremy’s bicep and starts pushing him towards the exit. “It was nice catching up and all Mitch, but I’ve got places to go, people to see, you know how it is.”

“W-wait!” Geoff slows marginally and looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “I can get you those papers by five o’clock tomorrow.” Geoff stops, turning to look at him and raises an eyebrow. “And a meeting with the board, to finalize the contract.”

Geoff gives him a lazy smile, “Now that’ll be just peachy.” the pressure is back on his arm and the two are heading towards the stairs. Once they reach the elevator Geoff sighs and pulls out his flask, taking a quick swig and places it back into the hidden pocket on the inside of his suit. The pocket that was put there for extra ammo or knives, not booze. Jeremy jumps almost a foot in the air when the older man busts up laughing.

“What the fuck?”

Geoff is wheezing and wiping at his eyes, “Oh fucking dicks, dude. That was so much easier than I remembered.” Jeremy is starting to get a little worried when Geoff starts to turn a little red. “Man, that was amazing. This is going to be awesome.” He turns to Jeremy with one of those soft fond smiles with just the slightest sliver of ice in his blue blue eyes. “You are going to go places kid.”

“Yeah…” He knows he’s fidgeting and that is something you should never do around a predator the likes of which you find in the Fakes. The likes of which run from the man in front of him. “I still have no idea what the hell just happened.”

Geoff’s smile falls into more of a smirk that he turns on Jeremy. “Oh Lil J, you are going to love this.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

“You did what?!” Jack was not happy.

Geoff sighs and raises one shoulder in a shrug, “I signed a contract with a music label as Jeremy’s manager.”

“Actually he set up a meeting with their board to sign a music contract.”  He shrinks in on himself at the betrayed half-glare Geoff shoots him.

Jack is rubbing at her temples and groans in frustration as Griffon rubs her back. “Why is this the first I am fucking hearing about this?”

Geoff shrugs again, “Would you have let me do it if you’d known?”

She laughs and looks up at him through curly red fringe. “I guess not. But let’s get one thing straight, Ramsey,” Her voice had gone a little dark and she rose with that slow fluidity all the Fakes seemed to hold and he envied. She saunters towards him, pulling a small knife out of her hip holster and twirling it between her fingers. “If any harm come to a single hair on my boy’s head, you’re the one paying for it.” She flicks it towards him and it slices his cheek on it’s flight towards the wall. Geoff gulps as she leans in to reach past him and pull int out. “Is that clear, darling?”

He gulps and Geoff smirks down at the redhead. “Why my sweet southern belle, I would have it no other way.”

“So…” Three heads turn to look at him. “Do I get no say in any of this?”

They all turn to look at each other and shrug as they face him. “No.”


	16. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara remembers when...

She remembers the day that Michael was officially introduced as a part of her world. A full member of Los Santos’ crime elite.

_ “ _ **_He's_ ** _ not the heir.” Michael's voice is flippant, light. But his hand shakes slightly as he takes a sip from his coke. He looks at Burnie and whiskey eyes are alight with challenge. “ _ **_I_ ** _ am.” _

_ Burnie’s eyebrows shoot up and he glares at Geoff across the table. “I won't back this, Ramsey.” _

_ “Didn't know who I named heir was part of the agreement, Burns.” _

_ “Well agreements change when one party decides they want to try and do something fucking stupid.” _

_ “Oi, he'd make a bloody brilliant boss!” _

_ “Mind your place, boy.” _

_ “What the fuck did you say to my son, you dick?” _

_ “Geoff, calm down.” _

_ “Yeah Ramsey, listen to wifey number one, or is she number two?” _

_ “ _ **_Enough_ ** _.” the voice is low but the entire table freezes. “If the Fakes cannot count on the backing of one of our oldest allies in such personal matters, then perhaps another will be willing to ally with us.” _

_ “Now you listen here, you little-” _

_ “Or,” whiskey eyes flash towards light blue. “You can sit yourself down, shut up, and listen to just what it is we came here to say.” _

She remembers the way he looked sitting there as if he hadn't just painted one of the city's largest fucking targets on his forehead. Looking back in her mind’s eye she can see the fear oozing out of every pore of his body. His hands clenched to stop the shaking and voice lowered to cover the slight quiver. But his eyes were steeled and carried the same cold fire as Burnie’s and Ramsey’s or any other seasoned criminal who had been in this world too long to get out now. And she wasn't sure if she should be impressed or worried that she couldn't see it before.

_ Barbara rolls her eyes with a scoff. But then her father leans back in his chair, and even though his jaw is clenched and there's still a tension in the air, he nods at the boy. “Very well, I will listen to what Ramsey’s appointed heir has to say.” Michael nods his head with a small smile. _

_ “That is all I ask, sir.” Griffon and Patillo are smiling like only proud mothers can, Gavin still looks ready to make a break for it, and Ramsey looks about ready to cry. Seriously, the man is sniffling and going on about ‘so proud of that little dickwad’ and ‘fucking brilliant little shit’. “Now,” he takes a sip from his glass again. His hands don't shake this time. “To business.” _

_ Three hours. It takes nearly three hours split between the dining table, the sitting parlor and the council room. Nearly three hours of talking and debating interrupted by almost yelling to get through the bullshit of establishing the choice to maintain the status quo between the two organizations. But now Barbara wrangles the others to the parlor to handle the rest of Michael's business over coffee (It was the closest thing to a break they were willing to accept). Now the smiles are easier and Gavin isn't clinging to Michael like a human safety blanket. Geoff and Burnie are starting to drunkenly take the piss out of each other and retelling stories the kids had heard different versions of for years. And after a minor scuffle concerning Gavin’s baseless, heretical, dislike of coffee, she and the boys are seated at a tea-table with cups of various caffeinated beverages and small treats in front of them. _

_ “So now that we've got the basics hammered out,” she sighs as her father sinks into the couch, second cup of coffee in hand. “Why not tell me why you went to all this trouble just to make sure we were still friends?” Really, the man was so tactful. _

_ Ramsey is on a rocking chair by himself while his lovers share a chaise. From his pout she doesn't think the isolation was his idea. He looks at Michael who nods firmly. He sighs, “My son, and chosen heir, has a favor he would ask of you Mr. Burns.” Burnie cocks an eyebrow at the formal tone this has taken. _

_ “Let him speak.” _

_ Michael stands and moves to the center of the room facing Burnie. His head held high and hands clasped behind his back he strikes an imposing figure. “Mr. Burns, I-” _

_ “Please, call me Burnie.” _

_ “Very well, Burnie.” he clears his throat. “My father has discussed with you some of the finer points of our revised treaty, but this… favor... could change everything.” A deep breath, “As I am sure you know, until about two years ago I was in the hands of the Pollioni family, headed by Rudolpho Pollioni. But what you and many others may not know is that I was not the only one.” he takes a shuddery breath and Gavin makes a move to get up but Patillo waves her hand in a quick signal that holds him back. “Children: brainwashed, beaten, tortured. Made to fight each other for the right to basic necessities such as food, water, a bed for the night, clothes. I was one of the lucky ones, I was sent to fight men, not innocents.” _

_ Burnie turns hard eyes on the boy. “What does this have to do with the favor you want to ask?” _

_ He takes a few steps towards the tea-table and picks up his cup, taking a sip. “I am going to end the house of Pollioni.” _

_ There's a heavy silence and Barbara can see her father thinking it over. But as she looks at the boy standing in the middle of the room tall and proud and too hardened for someone his age, his mothers watching him with sad eyes and his father puffed up in pride, she finds herself believing him. Finds herself lost in the watery smile Ramsey is trying to hold back and the way Gavin is looking at him like the boy in front of  them could single handedly burn Los Santos to the ground, and would let him watch. _

_ “I am going to end the house of Pollioni, but I need help to do it.” _

_ “My help.” _

_ “Preferably.” Michael doesn’t take his eyes off the older man as he takes a drink from his cup. “Preferably the Cock-bites would be with the Fakes on the front lines, going for the obvious seats of power and sending our best and most trusted after the root of the problem. We would have others alongside us, but you and yours would be the ones to claim the glory… and the spoils.” _

_ “Are you trying to bribe me, kid?” _

_ He raises one eyebrow, “Am I?” They hold each other's gaze long enough for most of the tension to bleed out a little. Long enough for the women to resituate themselves and Gavin to crumble four cookies into a little pile of sugary dust on his tea plate. All of a sudden her father throws back his head and lets out a roaring laugh that has everyone but Michael and Ramsey the elder jumping in their seats. The bespectacled boy just smiles. _

_ “You're tougher than you look kid, I like that. And smarter than most fucking heirs I've met. You really think you can pull this off?” _

_ Michael's smile is tight and his words hum with something like anticipation. Like the itch for a fight. Like power. “Sir, I'm going to burn those fuckers to the ground.” _

She remembers the day she first saw Ramsey’s vanguard. The one who led his forces and laughed in the face of his father’s enemies. She had weaseled her way into the front lines in the war on Pollioni and his men. To this day that might have been the absolute worst, or most brilliant mistake of her life.

_ “Get down, Blondie!” She’s just able to duck as the bullet makes contact with the wall in front of her. Then bruising hands are pulling her out of the line of fire and down dim hallways. The sound of fighting is so far, almost like a videogame from another room. “I thought you said you could fight!” _

_ “I can!” Her breath is coming in short pants and something is pressing down on her chest as she runs. “B-but maybe not on this level?” _

_ He looks back at her and she can swear that there’s fire in those eyes. “This is the life we’ve claimed for ourselves D’ora. If you can’t handle this you  _ **_will_ ** _ die a very early death.” _

_ “Why do you call me that?” they've stopped in a collapsed hallway of one of the back wings. This was closer to Pollioni’s living quarters than the Rings, where the real fighting and dying was happening. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye like she's crazy as he loads bullets into the clip of a gun he took off some dead grunt. “D’ora. What does it mean?” he blushes and focuses on the firearm. _

_ “You don't speak Italian, Blondie? And you call yourself a Mafia Brat?” _

_ “There's more mafias than the Italian one!” _

_ He scoffs, “None as powerful.” _

_ “Excu-” _

_ She doesn't get to finish. He's yelling and running, tossing her the pistol as a flash of steel arcs towards the first of the suits with guns coming at them. It's not as messy or bloody as she expected. But then he pulls the knife out of the man's forehead and the skin tears on the serrated edge and she can hear the squelch as blood spurts out from the force of the pull. There’s blood dripping down the dead man’s face before his body even hits the ground, and Michael has a blade in his other hand that slashes at the next opponent's throat.  _

_ “Any day now, D’ora!” _

_ Right! She was supposed to be fighting. She looks down at the matching pistols in each hand, both taken from fallen enemies throughout the fight. Her father had taught her how to shoot all sorts of weapons, steady and sure and always safe. But this wasn't a time for safety. She widens her stance and raises both pistols, aiming at the mass of black and white and red. _

_ The cracks of gunshot ring in her ears, her shoulders burn and good God she was going to have bruising from the kickback of these little guns. But she doesn't stop. It becomes aim, shoot, aim, shoot shoot, aim, dodge, block, hit, shoot shoot shoot, break away, aim, shoot. In the corner of her eye she can see Mogar swept up in his own sort of rhythm and tries to match her movements to his. Tries to step and spin and hit at the same time and while she gets close it mostly opens her up to the enemy a couple of times and thank goodness they were shit or else she'd have been dead way before now. _

There are days she misses the heavy, cold coil of fear in her gut at a knife that almost got to close, a bullet that tore through a loose sleeve. She misses the constant noise of fighting to win no matter the cost, because to win was to survive. But then she sees the look in her father’s eyes and how pale his fiance becomes when she nearly stands to volunteer for a mission. A hit, a fight, a meeting that can’t go well. She wants to go. But Burnie can’t lose her and Ashley wasn’t made for a world of evil-doers.

_ “Shit! We’re losing her!” _

_ “You were supposed to keep her safe!!” _

_ “I didn’t ask for her to be there.” _

_ “She is my heir of course she’d be there!” _

_ “This is the life of our kind Burns. If you can’t handle it I suggest finding a new line of work.” _

_ “You listen here you little piece of shit-!” _

_ “Would everyone please just stop? I can't even with you assholes right now.” _

_ There's a chuckle.“Can't even?” _

_ If she could open her eyes she would roll them, “Deal. I can't even deal.” _

_ “Sure baby, sure. You rest now baby girl.” She's able to open her eyes enough to see her father's face drawn and pale and a glaring freckle faced fighter behind him. There are people in bright almost uniform clothes with bags and tubes and one of then is coming at her with a needle. _

_ “Daddy,” she whimpers as she tries to shift away from her impending doom. Her legs get tangled in the scratchy sheets as her father tries to ease her back down. He's hushing her and has a hand pressing gently on one shoulder as the other pets her hair. “Don't let them daddy. Daddy, please.” _

_ Then there's a rough hand clasping hers and another on her head. A calloused thumb rubs across her forehead and there’s a voice softer than she expected.  _

_ “Il est temps d'être fort, d'or. Tu es toujours un guerrier.” He was right. As she took in warm brown eyes filled with worry in a face so pale you could play connect the dots with his freckles she knew, he was right. _

_ She takes a deep breath. “You're right.” she sniffs and ugh, she was a teary snotty mess. “I'm a fucking fighter.” _

_ Her dad smiles. “There's my girl.” the needle pinches and the dark creeping in at the edge of her vision is really not helping her right now but that doesn't matter as she grips two hands as tight as she can. _

_ “Golden one,” she sighs and a small smile tugs at the edge of her lips, “I like it.” _

Michael was a conundrum. He was soft and sweet and almost what she imagined a doting big brother would be like. He would bring her her favorite foods and pretty but practical things like damascus steel throwing knives and a thigh holster to go with them. He told her that he would show her how to use them as soon as she was walking again and had kept his word and more. He taught her to fight when the only weapons she had were her fists, he taught her how to take a hit and keep going even as the blood from a head wound poured down her face. He taught her how to get out of holds and locks and situations she thought only happened in the bad action movies. She taught him how to shoot a gun properly. He tells her that in all his time doing whatever he did that gave him his skill set, he had never actually been taught how to handle a gun. After the first few lessons she had called bullshit since he was a better marksman than most of the criminals she knew. They laughed and had a good time, bonding and building a friendship that would last through any trials this town could throw at them.

 

She remembers the day the Red Reaper found her. She remembers the echoing of childlike laughter bouncing around the old warehouse and the way the goons who had managed to corner her actually looked scared.

_ “Shit,” One of them hisses as the laughter quiets down. _

_ There’s the light tapping of booted feet touching down on metal, then wood, then the thud of them landing on concrete. She can just see something that looks like a lumpy human in the shadows. “You folks are a long way from home, aren’t ya?” And the thought that maybe she should have brushed up on just who held what territories since the rise of New Republic runs through her head. “Did someone get lost?” God, that voice did a number on the ears. _

_ “Fucking freak!” One of the goons yells and raises his gun to fire at the shadow. But he hits thin air as a blur of red rushes past her face. There’s more giggles and in the flash from the muzzles of fired guns she can just make out pale skin and midnight hair. _

_ “Is that the best you have?” She’s standing over two still forms and the third is barely twitching. There are two more randos between her and the shining steel streaked in blood and the squeak of soft leather as the girl shifts her grip on the hilt of the blade. “I’ll give you this one chance to run.” She smirks and wipes at a drop of blood on her cheek, “Just tell your people that Reaper holds the border for the NR.” the thugs run with whimpers and cries of panic and the girl laughs long and loud and it echoes in the dark. _

_ Silver grey eyes turn on her and she can’t tell if they’re natural or if the girl is wearing contacts. She should run, She should follow the others and tell her dad about the new force of chaos under the NR’s belt. But she can’t. Her feet won’t move and her hand is loose around her gun. _

_ “Well? Aren’t you going to follow them?” _

_ “I want in.” _

_ “What?” And there’s something guarded in her eyes and Barbara can see just how young this harbinger of death really is and that just seals it for her. _

_ “You’ve got to be planning something,” There’s more sounds of people descending from perches meant to give them the tactical advantage and coming out of carefully hidden nooks amongst the enormous piles of boxes. “And I want in on it.” _

_ “She’s good for her word at least.” a girl walks -more like saunters- up beside her friend covered in someone else's blood and she recognizes that scar! “Cock-bites have a complex about loyalty and honor. That’s why they won’t drop any of their allies unless they fuck up royally. Even kept the fakes around after their little stunt.” _

_ “Nice to see you too, Eberle.” Her hair is a platinum blonde that she had never seen on her before and there’s no makeup magic hiding the scar across the left side of her cheek. “It’s been awhile.” _

_ “I go by Weiss now, Dunkelman, Weiss Schnee. the less people can connect our activities to my, father the better.” _

_ Barbara smiles and it’s all teeth, “That bad huh?” _

_ Weiss smiles back, “Oh you have no idea.” _

_ “Okay, now that everyone is done sucking each other off,” The smaller girl claps her hands together and Kara -Weiss- scrunches up her nose in distaste. “I do believe that introductions are in order.” she turns away and a handful of people peel out of the shadows to follow her. _

_ “She'll need a new life.” a girl with midnight hair and a giant fucking bow on her head deadpans. “Goldilocks is too high profile for this shit.” _

_ “I'm an Heir, I can't abandon that.” the bow girl looks unimpressed next to Weiss’ obvious annoyance and the small one's scrunched face. “I'll use a cover name or some shit.” the little one smiles big and bright and it's almost painful. _

_ “Perfect! Oh there’s so many you can use. Like-” _

_ “Xiao Long.” she turns to the girl with the bow. “Yang Xiao Long.” her eyes are gold and obsidian set in marble. “Means little sun dragon.” _

_ The little one laughs and Weiss smirks like Bow Girl just told a joke. “Yang it is then!” little one chortles and walks right up to her. She's smiling but her eyes are calculating, measuring. “I’m Ruby Rose,” She lifts her weapon from earlier and Barbara does not get a little uneasy about the scythe still covered in blood, “But most call me Reaper.” _


	17. Arrogance Is Not Becoming of a Crime Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know updates between my stories are already a bit sporadic, but it's gonna get really bad these next few months... With work giving me some extra hours, school coming up, and being kicked out of my house because I'm Bi and my parents don't approve... Things are getting interesting... Thankfully I have friends who are willing to help me and one I'm rooming with for at least this semester I think, so updates will happen, I just can't promise anything resembling a steady timetable.

“I am not gonna let you just go and get yourself killed.” the sound of bullets being spilled over glass echoes in the room.

“For the last fucking time: I don’t need your fucking permission to go and make sure my brother is alright.” he pops the empty clip out of one of the guns and tosses it alongside the new bullets.

“We have our best people watching the kid, Michael. There is no way anything is going to happen to him.”

“Well something happened, Geoff! Someone got to him and now I am going to go over there and fix this clusterfuck!” Silence hangs between them as Michael puts together spare clips and shoves them in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“He knew what he was getting himself into.”

His hands fumble for a second. “He didn-doesn't… doesn't know anything else.”

“Meaning he knew better than a lot of us did at his age.” Geoff moves behind the couch Michael is sitting on and a hand rests on his shoulder and squeezes. “He knew better, and was out enough to make it here from whatever fresh hell you two came from. He knew and decided to stay because he wanted to. He's tough Michael, he kept himself and J alive a long time before we found them. He'll survive a bit of spiked dope and some half-assed scare tactics.”

Michael sniffs and clears his throat and it's one of those sounds that just makes Geoff’s heart break a little. “He stayed because of me. He stayed in it to find me.” Geoff drops down so his forearms rest on Michael’s shoulders.

“He knew you were alive and kickin, huh?”

He laughs and Geoff rests his cheek down on auburn curls. “Ray was always smart about that shit.”

Geoff humslike he’s thinking. “He'll make it. The kid is a survivor. You both are.”

“I can't lose him dad. He's the only piece of… fuck it but I can't let that die.”

“Michael-”

“I can’t lose him too.”

“Son, listen to me-”

“Don’t you get it? He dies and everything is done, it’s over, there’s absolutely nothing for me to go back to. There is-”

“Good to go, Jones?”

The scent of ink rises and he can feel the arms resting on his shoulders go rigid, “And where the hell do you think you two are going, Tuggey?”

She stops a few feet from the door, arms laden with what looks like Victoria’s Secret tote bags, “Did you really leave it to me to tell him, you bitch?”

“Hey! Give me some credit! I’m not that much of an asshole.” She and Geoff scoff. “Okay, that’s enough of that.”

“I am still not understanding what you mean by going along with this Tuggey. Your job is to keep him out of trouble, not encourage him going on suicide missions! This is-”

“This is me doing my job.”

“I don’t think you understand-”

“No sir, I don’t think you understand. You told me my job was to keep Mogar secure,” Michael tenses up beneath him. “Keep him under some measure of control and from making any more trouble. Well control and Mogar don't belong in the same sentence, and trouble found us. So fuck you and let me do my job.”

“I could fire you,” Michael sucks in a sharp breath and looks at her. Her gaze is steady on Geoff as she lifts one eyebrow. “I could send you packing right now and there would be nothing you could do about it except walk.”

She sighs, “Oh listen to yourself Ramsey. Arrogance does not become one of the most notorious men in Los Santos. Arrogance is stupid and shows one’s lack of common sense. You may be many things sir, but stupid aint one of em, and you are one of the few sensible people in this fucking crew. I swear, with all the idiots you have working for you I’m surprised you’ve lived this long!”

“Hey, I resent that! I think!”

“Good, you’re one of the idiots.”

“Look here Tuggey-”

“No. You look. There are good men and women who rely on you making the right choice. And for years you have shown that you know when to fight, when to flee, when to compromise, and when to blow them out of the fucking water. Well we’ve got some assholes who need a good kick in the pants on their way six feet under or they will tear apart everything you have built. Everything you have fought and bled and killed for, and the people who helped you build your empire. The people you were an idiot and let yourself love. This little playing house shtick can only go so far in this shithole and you know it. So you step up and take charge, or let your son do what he does best.”

Geoff sneers at the girl squared up in front of him. Her eyes are dark and her posture tells him she’s more used to fighting with a weapon than bare-knuckled, but she isn’t afraid to throw the first hit. She’s not quite small but she has a smaller frame that he’s sure she knows how to manipulate to her full advantage.

“And what, pray tell, is it that he does best?”

She smiles and it reminds him too much of the way Michael smiles after Mogar has had a good run.

When there are parts of the city in flames, Gavin is watching his brother with a mix of awe and fear, Ryan is cackling like the weirdo he is, Ray is smoking a well-earned joint and chuckling about ‘those dumb noobs’, LilJ is staring in awe, not sure what to focus on in all of the chaos, and in the midst of it is Michael. His auburn hair tinted red by the glare of the flames as the wind whips the curls into his face, his hands covered in powder burns and small scrapes and the blood of some poor sap is drying under his fingernails. When he looks down over the destruction and Geoff asks him if that was enough, if they were done now. Because he wants to get home to his warm bed and his loving wives and away from the overwhelming insanity that has become his life. Because when his son -his beautiful boy that he may not have had a hand in creating but is still all his, and gods bless the day he came into this old man’s life- turns to him like the beast is still hungry it scares him more than he would ever feel safe enough to admit. But he bares his teeth in what Geoff assumes is supposed to be a smile, and chuckles low and dark and foreboding. When he turns back to the carnage and sighs, almost like a lovestruck schoolboy, _"_ __It_ will have to do.” _

She turns that smile full of predatory glee on him and he can feel his stomach start to drop. “Let him  _ hunt _ .”


	18. Official Summons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying my best to get chapters written. Please enjoy my pitiful offering.

There was something infuriating about the way she moved. It was effortless and light but he knew it carried the weight of a diesel truck. Like a full-rig sixteen wheeler all bundled up and jammed into one small fist. That concentrated -physically impossible- force nearly sends him reeling with each strike. His arm buzzes where he barely catches her next shot to his face.

“Had enough yet?” she laughs and flicks her bangs to the side. He knew he should use that to his advantage, she had been told she shouldn't grow out her hair. But this wasn't that kind of fight. He smiles and there's a glint in her eyes that probably means his teeth are covered in blood. And from the slight throb just behind his eyes the blood was from a broken nose… again. He spits out a mouthful of pink onto the dirt floor -yep, that was blood alright.

“Don’t break him, Yang.” The pale girl with the giant ass bow sitting on top of her head sighs from behind her book, “Your father said that if this one quits you have to go in The Rings when you need to blow off some steam.” Barbara scoffs.

The redhead laying across the weird asian dude’s lap sits straight up, “Ooooh!! Maybe  **we** can go a round, Blondie. I bet I can take you.”

“No.” The asian has one eye opened and glaring at her.

“Aww, but I wanna see who would win.”

“I said no.”

“I thought  **this,** ” she holds up a hand with a shining band of silver with a rock the likes of which a lowly grunt like him had only held to hand over to someone more powerful than he was paid to care about. “Meant you were supposed to be nicer to me.”

“Nah, just means that I can use more drastic measures to calm your crazy-ass down.”

“What did you say you fuc-mmph” She’s cut off with a muffled squeal as the man leans in to steal a kiss. A very sound kiss.

He, Barbara, the bow girl, and the kiss-thief chuckle at the redhead’s dazed expression when he pulls away. And the girls sigh in fond exasperation when the daze is shaken off and she wraps her arms about his neck with insistent pleas of “Again, again!”

“Oh no, I don't reward bad behavior.”

“Who are they anyway?” He sighs with a nod in the direction of the small audience.

Barbara smiles at him and shrugs, “Now that would be telling, wouldn't it?”

There's blood dribbling over his lips and slowly pooling on his tongue but he licks the red smear on his mouth as silly and seductive as he can. “No one of consequence then.” She stiffen and there's a flash in her eye. “I mean, if they were a threat they wouldn't be here, and if they were anything to write home about I doubt they would be sitting around watching you throw a tantrum.”

“Watching me what now?”

He smiles soft and sweet and bloody. “Throwing a tantrum about not getting the shiny new toy you wanted like the spoiled little daddy's girl you are.”

She growls and its not as low as the one she picked it up from but it still almost makes him shiver and fills the room. The three along the wall are watching with interest now.

His grin hurts his cheeks and he laughs, “Come at me Barbie doll.”

Her face twists into something almost ugly and it sends a thrill of glee up his spine. “You're going to regret that, Pasta!” And she's bearing down on him faster than he can strike back. He's barely able to parry and block some, but more than a few still connect. She's squaring up again, catching her breath and reading him to see just how done he is.

“That-” His breath has bit of a wet rattle to it as he sucks air in, “That all you got?”

“AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGH!!!” his arms are up and he's settled into a firm stance, ready for the hit, when the door slams open her friends stand up and the bow girl has a hand on the hilt of her oddly shaped sword, Asian dude looks ready to jump in between them and the redhead has a giant shit eating grin on her freckled face.

“Barbara!” She pulls back and redirects her hit to a nearby dummy with a frustrated shriek. There's a loud crack as her wrapped hand connects with the rubber covered canvas of the punching bag.

There’s a light chuckle. “Did I come at a bad time, then?” The guy is taller than her and is the kind of scruffy accenting a narrow profile he guesses some girls might find attractive. Paired with the way his plain black shirt strained against his shoulders and the French accent, he figures the guy would do well at the local bars.

“What are you doing here, Marquis?”

“Your father sent for me. Seems some of our…” he glances at Alfredo then the group still at the ready, “mutual friends… might be in need of assistance.”

She rolls her eyes and turns away from the annoyance. “I mean why are you  **here** , bothering me?” he looks up at her hand warily as she leans down a little to help him up. It wouldn't be the first time she'd faked out a helping hand on a sparring partner.

The older man chuckles, “Ah cheri. What, have you broken another one?”

“And what is  **that** supposed to mean?”

He hisses in pain as she grabs his arm and forcefully hauls him up. “I think it means you're a fucking devil, Miss Burns. Not a she-devil, just a plain old-fashioned devil.” He knows he shouldn't be mouthing off, the other boys had said as much. They had said that if he wanted to keep his tongue where it was he should keep it in check. “And more than a few of us have the scars to prove it.”

She glares at him and damn it, what else is there to do when one of the most powerful, dangerous, bloodthirsty Heirs of the city is glaring at you like you're about to die a very painful, very messy, death? He figures sticking his tongue out at her isn't the stupidest last act a glorified grunt like him could do.

There’s a loud guffaw and a muffled snort and some soft chuckles and he turns to the Frenchman who is bent over, hands resting on his knees as he takes deep breaths, shaky from laughter. “Oh monsieur, you are either very brave or very very eager to die.” he doesn't like the man's smirk.

“Or I'm just really stupid.”

Barbara snorts, “Well, with a face like  **that** .”

She winks at him as he rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I'm sure Saucey here has got things to do. So if you don't mind waiting a-”

“Saucey?” and he's smiling at them like he knows a funny secret. “And does your beau live up to his name, cheri?”

He flushes red and her mouth twists like she tasted something sour. “Oh, stick to your own business Marquis.”

“If the mademoiselle insists,” he sighs with an overdramatic shrug of his shoulders. “Then I shall simply take my message and tidbits of whispers elsewhere.”

She tenses for a moment before she rolls her shoulders back and lets out a heavy breath. “Fine. Fine, fine, fuck-it-all, just fine.” she turns on her heels and starts moving towards Marquis. “What is so important that you just had to come deliver it personally?”

Marquis smirks and he doesn’t like it. “Your pet wolf is having some trouble with his bunny. The little thing keeps going on about someone named Angelo, and your wolf is about to go on a rampage with our favorite bird of prey.” He chuckles, “It would seem that you chose the wrong criminal to get tangled up with, cheri.”

The only sound in the room is Barbara’s heavy breathing as she visibly struggles to keep herself under control. 

The Asian one steps forward, placing a hand on her shuddering shoulder. “You said you had a message.”

“Hmm?”

“The message, Marquis, what was the fucking message?”

The Frenchman's smile falters as he pulls out a small black envelope with a metallic red wax seal. “I am aware that RWBY has already convened, but I have been sent to give out… The official summons.”

Barbara reaches out with a shaking hand, pale fingers crinkling the thick paper. She sighs as she breaks the seal and slips out the white cardstock letter. “Gear up, RWBY and JNPR are going to the Rings.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's so short. Chapter 20 should be up within the week

She bit back a growl as she fought with, and cursed at, the ridiculously tiny zipper on the tight emerald green dress she had to try and convince to fit her. It was a sheath with a modest sweetheart neckline, strings of sparkling stones hanging off jeweled shoulder straps instead of sleeves and a train that started from her upper back, just between her shoulder blades, and spilled onto the floor behind her. That part she could deal with, showing off a little extra cleavage and having shiny pretty things hanging off every inch of her and the cute little ribbons tied about her wrists that attached to the flowing train, she could deal with. What she could not deal with was how blessedly tight her dress was, even without the extra boning the woman at the boutique had suggested to ‘keep everything in place’. She cursed at who ever thought that tight dresses needed to have big poofs coming out of the back of the skirt from her knees down. She swore to destroy the man who invented fashion heels that dug into her feet and pinched her toes. And she was going to wipe whatever shitty brand of makeup Ryan and Gavin had slapped on her, from the face of the earth if it was the last thing she did.

“Are you alright there, Mrs. Ramsey?” She sighed at the soft, slightly muffled, voice coming from her doorway. Standing about six feet from her was an elegant creature with milky skin, dark waves of amethyst hair that complemented her midnight blue gown and gold  **everywhere** . Her entire face is hidden behind a porcelain mask with eyes painted shut and a small blood red smile on heart shaped lips. That was normal for Dollface, one of the most notorious assassins in Los Santos, if not the rest of the criminal underworld. Only a few had ever seen what her face looked like, and most who did never lived to tell about it.

Jack smiles though she knows it probably comes out more of a grimace, and tries to keep her voice light. “Oh I’m fine dear, just have to make this blasted zipper cooper-” She’s cut off by a loud rip and pop.

“Oh no, your dress!” And in a flash the younger woman is at her side fussing and slipping her out of the monstrosity made of satin and sequins and ushering her over to the edge of the giant bed she shares with her partners. “You sit down and I'll see what I can do with this, ma'am.” Jack just nods silently and runs her hands through her hair, scraping her nails lightly across her scalp and pulling a bit at her roots, as she falls back with a groan.

“Just check the closet, see if Griffon has anything baggy enough to fit me.”

Dollface sighs but Jack hears the slight creak of the antique armoire being eased open. “I know that it isn't my place to ask ma'am; but is everything alright?” Jack lets out a humourless bark of a laugh. “It's just that, while he hasn't said anything in particular, Vagabond has seemed a bit tense lately. I don't think I've seen him this worried without someone getting got or injured on a heist.”

Jack lifts herself up to rest on her elbows and turns her head to look at the young woman with her head stuck in the hanging dresses. “What do you mean?”

“You act like I haven’t been friends with Ryan for years and that I know that fucker like the back of my hand.”

“Well you may know  **him** , but how do you know one of us  **didn’t** get hurt, or something happened to one of his guys on a job?”

Dollface sighs and pops her head out to look at Jack and the older woman could feel the intense disapproval even through the mask. “I know the location, main residence, and status of everyone that man considers important… on any level. Be they enemy, ally, friend, or fall into his twisted perception of family, I know it.” Jack arches an eyebrow at her and hums. She wondered how Ryan’s civilian girlfriend felt about an assassin following her every move. “Now I don't expect you to believe me right off the bat, especially since I am not going to give up my sources of information, even to the Fakes.”

Both women chuckle as Dollface grabs a layered handful of red cloth from the very back of the armoire. “What's this doing off a hanger? Griffon should know better.” She tuts as she shakes it out.

“Oh that? She got it when she was on a job, spoils of war and all that.” She smirks, but its pained, and looks the article of clothing up and down as Dollface holds it up for her. “But back to you following Ryan’s girlfriend like the wily assassin you are.”

“Who’s following Ryan’s bird then?”

Dollface steps into Gavin’s line of sight smoothly as Jack rolls closer to the center of the bed, taking the edge of the blanket along to wrap around her. “Hey there Gavvers. Don’t worry, Ryan’s little lady is safe and sound.” she laughs as Gavin catches a glimpse of Jack’s hastily covered form and blushes.

“O-oh, sorry there Jack, didn’t mean to walk in on you. Shoulda knocked, huh?”

Jack laughs, “That’s alright sweetie, no harm done after all.”

He hums and and focuses back on Dollface, “There’s been a complication.” And all of a sudden her shoulders are squared and her back is a little straighter and Jack is impressed in the way the girl goes from easy and unassuming despite the mask, to business sharp and ready to kill something.

“What’s wrong?”

Gavin chuckles and waves a hand lazily in the air, dismissing her unease. “Nothing to worry about, love. We just got some… changes to the plan.” He leans to the side so Jack’s face is just visible past Dollface. “Your dates have changed things up a bit. You are gonna be Mrs. Ramsey proper, tonight.”

Jack groans and buries her face in the mattress, throwing her arms over her head. “No. I refuse to be the vaguely threatening arm candy. I’m not good at that shit. That’s why Griffon does it, because people like Griffon, she’s publicly retired for pete’s sake!”

“Come on mum,” Gavin sighs and it comes out almost a whine, “Even Ryan is gonna be there and he always manages to find his way out of these things.”

There’s a light sigh and Gavin’s beaming smile is directed back at Dollface. “I don’t know why I was called in if all I’m gonna do is be more arm candy and your moms are doing the actual work here.” She always liked the girl, she was open minded and smart. She could see why Griffon had thrown her into the ring as her pick.

“Oh but who’s going to be paying attention to the mistress of one of the most powerful men in Los Santos and his wife when such a beautifully accomplished young assassin is traipsing about in their midst on the Heir Apparent’s arm?”

“Another reason for me to be on the sidelines. Griffon is  **always** the arm candy, everyone there will recognize her. It’ll only bring more attention to her that she’s  **not** on Geoff’s arm.”

Gavin rolls his eyes and throws his hands up. “Wot you want me to do abou’ it then? I just work for the dolt, I got no real say round ‘ere ‘less it’s technical, and you bloody know it.”

“Go bother Michael, or Ryan. He listens to them when Griffon refuses to knock sense into him.”

“Michael will be there?” Gavin tenses slightly, but still too much, too obvious for someone in his line of work. “I thought Tugglife was keeping him under wraps while the Brownman situation was resolved.”

“The Ramsey heir is required to make an appearance. And even if most of the rest of Los Santos, let alone the new buggers, won’t know the proper heir is absent, it doesn’t mean that those who matter won’t take offence. They might take it as a slight if only the Golden Boy shows up as part of Ramsey’s entourage.” He shrugs and looks directly at her, all nonchalance dropped for just a moment, “Besides, Tugglife couldn’t make it.”

She’s quiet at the look Gavin gives her as he brushes off Lindsay’s absence. He knew something, or at least suspected. And she wasn’t sure which one worried her the most. He’s fussing over Jack and rummaging through Griffon’s excessive closet in her stead and she just barely picks up on the conversation and how to shift the plan about without talking to Geoff. She agrees to something, she’s not sure what, and shoos Gavin out of the room when Jack sighs in defeat and says she’ll wear the red dress. She focuses on redoing Jack’s makeup with her own supplies, and not the shit Ryan and Gavin thought was acceptable, to drown out the buzzing in the back of her head and curses at herself when she nearly runs into the door on her way out to the rest of the penthouse for last minute preparations. She was a fucking professional, gods be damned, she should be keeping her head on her shoulders.

He fucking suspected something, if he didn’t know for certain, and he was still breathing. Meaning Lindsay either didn’t know, or she decided to let him live. She didn’t want to think of what it would mean if Lindsay herself had brought him in on the secret.


End file.
